Lost
by Lil black dog
Summary: When the Enterprise is sent to Beta Arcida IV to determine the whereabouts of a research team, McCoy and Spock go missing as well. Will Kirk and the rest of the crew be able to find them before it’s too late?
1. Prologue

**Lost**

**Prologue**

There were six members of the team in all, and at fifty years of age, Ana had earned her reputation and position as head of the expedition. The group consisted of two geologists, two xenobiologists, and two xenobotanists. They had been sent to Beta Arcida IV as part of an advance scouting mission to determine its suitability for colonization. The planet had proven to be a veritable treasure trove of valuable minerals and was blessed with uncommonly fertile soil, which would be able to support a wide variety of Terran plants. Combined with a moderate climate and no sentient species present, it represented a most promising prospect. As a matter of fact, with the exception of a few small animals resembling Terran moles, there were no mammals at all, the predominant species being birds and insects. It was rare to find a class M planet that was not already home to an intelligent, indigenous population, and plans were currently underway to start clearing the planet for habitation, based on the information the team had gleaned so far on their month-long mission. Two weeks into the task, based on their preliminary findings, they had found no reason to alter the scheduled timetable for colonization. The team members had done a thorough assessment of the surface; all that remained was a cursory exploration of the subterranean caverns that seemed to be in abundance on this continent, before settlement of the planet by various species within the Federation could begin.

The sky overhead was crystal clear, the morning dew sparkling on the grass and trees, the sun working to evaporate the condensation rapidly, leaving a slight haze in its wake. Ana Lucia Cruz finished stuffing the last of their cool weather gear, along with their other spelunking tools, into her field pack, distractedly tucking a wisp of long, chestnut brown hair that had escaped from her ponytail behind her ear. It was temperate enough here on the surface, but would be a constant, 8 degrees Celsius down in the catacombs. Securing the contents snugly, she called out, "Ready, Watson?"

"Just gimme a minute to collect the rest of the gear and then we can go," Stefan said, favoring her with a youthful smile. At the tender age of twenty-three, he was the youngest member of the group. This was his first mission as a geologic specialist, and he was trying desperately to make a good impression. He loped toward one of the temporary structures and disappeared inside, emerging a few minutes later with an overstuffed pack slung over his shoulders. "Got the LED lanterns, geologic tricorders, holo camera and sample kits, as well as a day's rations in case we decide to stay in there overnight." His grin was enthusiastic and infectious, and she couldn't help but return it.

"Okay, let's get moving then. Stiffler," she called. A red head and bespeckled face poked out of one of the doors to the prefab buildings that comprised the team's base camp.

"Yeah, chief?"

"Watson and I are heading off to begin explorations of the underground cave system. The deeper we go, the less chance there'll be that we'll be able to maintain radio contact, so don't be alarmed if you don't hear from us for a while. Depending on what we find there, we may spend the night, so don't the rest of you hold dinner for us, and don't wait up," she remarked.

"Gotcha Chief." And just as suddenly as it had appeared, the head was withdrawn.

"Ready?" she asked her companion.

"Do Tribbles hate Klingons?" he replied, mischief dancing in his clear, blue eyes.

She laughed in spite of herself, and was instantly sure she had never been that young, or that enthusiastic.

The two of them set off at a brisk pace for the nearest entrance to the underground cave system, located approximately two kilometers to the northeast.

*******

"Wow! I can't believe the precious minerals present down here," Watson commented, the unrestrained awe evident in his voice, "and these natural formations are just awesome! "It musta been the perdantium that prevented our detecting them earlier. This planet will be a true Eden for the Federation," he finished breathlessly, fumbling to retrieve the holo camera from his pack.

"Yeah, it's pretty amazing," Ana Lucia concurred, waving her tricorder over the stunning scene before her. They had traveled about a kilometer below the surface, donning their cold weather gear at the entrance. The tunnels were unremarkable, but the caverns they led to were absolutely beautiful. Stalactites and stalagmites adorned almost every surface, much as they did in Terran caves, or those on other Federation worlds. Here they were made all the more beautiful by the plentitude of bioluminescent organisms, clinging to just about every surface, bathing the catacomb's interior in a soft, eerie light. All the various forms were represented: cave pearls, bacon or curtain formations, soda straws, and Aragonite and Anthodite crystals were all present in abundance, as well as numerous other types, some of which they had never encountered before. The two geologists were having a field day, so much so that they were completely absorbed in photographing and cataloguing all that they saw, and were totally unaware they were being observed. Watson was capturing a 3D digital rendition of a particularly impressive bacon formation when Ana screamed. He turned abruptly at the sound, the holo camera slipping from his nerveless fingers, startled and sickened at the sight that met his eyes. He turned to run, but the creature was upon him before he had taken more than a few steps.

***

These were larger and tastier than her usual fare, their outsides soft and pliant, unlike the brittle or downy texture she was familiar with. But the sounds emanating from them were somewhat jarring, indeed. They were a bit more vocal than she was accustomed to, their high-pitched whines and cries an assault to her sensitive ears. No matter, she found with the second one that if she ate the portion responsible for the offensive racket first, she could then enjoy the rest of her meal in silence. Yes, these were delicious, indeed. Wondering why they had not been included amongst her daily rations before, she found them much to her liking, and instructed her soldiers to secure more of them as quickly as possible.


	2. Chapter One

**Chapter One**

**Captain's log, stardate 4326.7. We are en route to Beta Arcida IV, where a group of scientists has been conducting a routine survey of the planet for the past three weeks as a prelude to colonization. The team had been providing daily progress reports via subspace radio, and so far, the results have been positive. No sentient species or dangerous predators have been detected, and the planet has an over-abundance of valuable minerals, a temperate climate, and a wide variety of native flora. However, for reasons that have yet to be explained, all contact was suddenly lost with the team eight days ago. It is unclear as to whether this is a result of equipment failure, or something more insidious. The **_**Enterprise**_** is being dispatched to investigate and determine the fate of the scientists.**

He switched off the recorder, and turned his attention to the ship's navigator. "Mr. Chekov, ETA to Beta Arcida IV?"

"Ve should arrive there in twelve point three hours, Keptin, if ve maintain our current speed of varp three," the navigator informed him promptly.

"Thank you, Mr. Chekov." He rose from the command chair and mounted the two steps to the upper tier of the bridge, stopping in front of the communications station.

"Lieutenant, any incoming messages from the scientific contingent?"

"No, sir. I have been scanning all frequencies, and there is nothing on either the regular or emergency channels."

"Very well. Carry on."

"Aye, sir."

He stepped to his left, where Spock was bent over his hooded viewer, the soft, blue light playing over his features. "Care to speculate on what happened to the survey team, Mr. Spock?" he asked, settling a hip on the edge of the science console and folding his arms across his chest.

Spock seated himself, clasping his hands loosely in his lap, meeting Kirk's curious gaze. "It is too early to do so, Captain. We are currently still out of scanning range, and there are a number of scenarios possible, ranging from equipment failure to illness to an unexpected natural disaster to name a few."

"What do we know about the planet, Spock?"

"Preliminary surveys show Beta Arcida IV is class M, atmosphere 75.2% nitrogen, 23.6% oxygen, with the remainder being made up of numerous inert gases, giving it a slightly higher oxygen content than Earth's atmosphere. It is 1.174 times the size of Earth, which accounts for its slightly higher gravity. While rich in natural resources and abundant flora and fauna, primarily in the classes Aves and Insecta, there is no trace of intelligent life, either existing now or in the planet's history. Previous orbital scans indicated an extensive network of subterranean caverns, crisscrossing the majority of the planet's one major land mass, which covers 33.6% of the planet's surface. A number of smaller land masses are present in the vast oceans which blanket the globe. One full rotational period takes seventeen point three hours."

"Is the planet known for seismic activity? Could that be part of the problem?"

"It is, of course, a possibility, but as yet there is no definitive data to corroborate that premise. No mention was made of such a phenomenon in the initial reports the team sent back to command, but that does not preclude the potential for isolated and unexpected seismic activity. This, however, is highly improbable. The tunnel system known to exist below the surface would undoubtedly not be so large if earthquakes were a common occurrence. More than likely, they would have collapsed under frequent seismic events."

"I just don't like beaming down blind, without knowing what we're walking into," Kirk remarked, unfolding his arms and grasping the edge of the console, leaning forward slightly, meeting the Vulcan's eyes squarely.

"Based on the preliminary reports received from the expedition so far, a malfunction of the team's communications equipment is the most likely cause for the radio silence; however it is certainly not the only one. We should be prepared for any contingency once we make planetfall," his First supplied readily.

"Thanks for indulging me, Spock. I know you don't like to speculate without data to back it up," Kirk said, a warm smile suffused with affection and gratitude spreading slowly over his face, "although I'd trust your best guess over most other people's hard facts any day."

"I have learned, over the years Jim, that there are times when you as a commander require information, speculation or otherwise." Spock cocked an eyebrow at him, putting on his best non-emotional mask, drawing his arms across his chest and tilting his head slightly.

Kirk was nonplussed. "Thanks? I think?"

***

Giotto and his two-man team were already in the transporter room when Kirk and Spock arrived, with McCoy in tow. The doctor had insisted on coming along; if there were injured personnel on the planet below, he wanted to be able to evaluate them right away. Giotto was in the midst of briefing his men:

"As yet, we are unsure if this is simply a communications problem or something of a different and more dangerous nature. We will be beaming directly into the expedition's base camp. There is no indication of sentient life and no known predators large enough to pose a threat to the scientists. As we are well inside Federation space, races hostile to the UFP are a long shot, but always possible. Be alert for any situation that might arise. Dismissed." With that, the security detail assumed positions on the transporter pad. "We're ready, Captain," the security chief informed him.

"Very good, Commander. Gentlemen, if you are prepared as well?" He nodded at Spock and McCoy, gesturing to the platform.

"Let's get this show on the road," McCoy muttered, mounting the steps and taking a place on one of the pads, Kirk and Spock close on his heels.

"Energize," came the crisp command.

***

They materialized in the center of the camp, the six temporary buildings set up in a 'U' pattern, their doors facing a central courtyard. The desolation was immediately obvious. Doors swung freely in the breeze, creaking on protesting hinges. Broken equipment was strewn haphazardly around the site, like toys carelessly dropped by a spoiled child. Tables which had been set up outside in the area rimmed by the shelters and were used to examine the specimens collected were overturned, their contents dumped unceremoniously in the dirt. Little evidence of the team was present: a few items of clothing, strung on makeshift clotheslines between the buildings were snapping and cracking in the wind. Other than that, there was no sign of any of the team members.

Giotto was the first to move. "Andrews, Lukyanenko, set up a perimeter. Watch for any signs of hostiles or survivors," he ordered smartly, his eyes roaming purposefully throughout the devastation before them. Amid a chorus of 'aye sirs', his team hurried to disperse.

"C'mon, gentlemen, let's see if anyone's home," Kirk said, collecting Spock and McCoy with a nod as he started across the compound, hand on the butt of his phaser as it rested against his hip. "Spock, check out the communications shed, Bones and I will check the crew quarters," Kirk said, striding toward the nearest building. Once inside, it was evident something significant had happened here. Personal items were scattered throughout, tables and couches upended, articles of clothing tossed around the room, a holo of someone's family in a smashed frame, lamps overturned, the stuffing from a pillow scattered liberally over the floor. Obviously some sort of struggle had taken place here.

"Jeez, Jim, it looks like there was one helluva battle in here," McCoy commented softly.

"But with whom? Or what? There's no evidence of a large, hostile, indigenous species on this planet. And in spite of the fact that some sort of violent confrontation took place here, I don't see any blood, human or otherwise."

McCoy pulled out his scanner at that remark, surveying the room, the device whirring softly in his hand. He consulted his medical tricorder before supplying an answer to his CO. "You're right, Jim – no sign of blood. Then what happened to them, I wonder? Natives we haven't discovered for some reason? Renegades, pirates, Orion slavers perhaps? Or maybe a team member who just snapped."

"Right now it's just pure speculation. We're not going to learn anything here," Kirk said, toying with the broken holo where it lay on a low table by the door. "Let's see if Spock had any better luck."

Stepping outside into the waning sunlight, they crossed the compound and entered the communications shed. Once again, they were struck by the damage. The table housing the subspace radio was sprawled on its side, the equipment in pieces on the floor. Spock had a tricorder in hand and was carefully examining the images contained there.

"Any luck, Spock? Kirk said, sidling up to his First Officer and glancing over the Vulcan's shoulder at the tiny screen. "What the hell happened here?"

"Still undetermined at present," came the calm response. "I have been examining the records the group stored here, but they are all routine reports on their findings. They have indicated nothing out of the ordinary – no unexplained illness or hostility among the members of the expedition, and no mention of an outside presence which would account for the obvious decimation. I would suggest beaming these to the _Enterprise_ immediately for further and more detailed analysis," he said calmly, gesturing to the half-dozen tricorders he had found on a low shelf perched on the back wall, untouched by the chaos evident in the rest of the building.

"See to it, and then meet us outside." Not a patient man, Kirk was already on the move, heading for the door, wearing a look of grim determination.

"Yes, Captain."

***

"All right, gentlemen, all we know for sure is that the entire team is missing," Kirk began, pacing before the members of the landing party who had reassembled in the central courtyard. "There was nothing in the logs or messages they sent back to Starfleet Command indicating a problem. "It's entirely possible that, regardless of what happened here, some of the team may have managed to escape and could be in hiding somewhere in the vicinity. Giotto," he said, addressing the Security Chief.

"Sir," he answered, snapping from parade rest to attention.

"I want three-man search parties beamed down, a total of six. We'll fan out in a starburst pattern from here, looking for anything out of the ordinary, as well as for signs of survivors. Teams are to rendezvous here in one hour. We'll be losing the light at about that time, anyway. Stay in touch via communicators, and report any unusual findings immediately," Kirk ordered, rattling off his instructions in rapid-fire succession.

"Aye, sir. I'll get right on it," Giotto responded crisply, stepping away from the group and flipping his communicator open with a flick of his wrist.

Spock joined them as the first of the search teams were materializing in the courtyard. "I have had the team's tricorders beamed aboard, and instructed my staff to notify me as soon as the analysis of the data is complete, or immediately if anything untoward is discovered."

The three of them started off from the camp, heading due west, into the setting sun. Spock was preoccupied with scanning their surroundings with his tricorder, so Kirk and McCoy picked up their discussion where it had left off in the crew's quarters.

"It's just damned odd, Jim. How can six individuals disappear without a trace, with no time to leave a warning that there was a problem?"

"I don't know Bones, but I've got a hunch there's more than meets the eye here."

They were interrupted by Spock. "Captain, I am reading increased levels of perdantium, which would interfere with our scanning abilities and communications. There seem to be higher concentrations of it in the upper tiers of the subterranean tunnel system, thereby preventing an accurate reading on what might be contained within them."

"Is it possible the perdantium could be obscuring life form readings within the tunnel network? Perhaps some of the team heading there to escape whatever it was that destroyed their camp?" Kirk asked expectantly.

"That is a plausible scenario, but it will be impossible to know for sure, unless we are able to get below the level of interference. There seems to be a narrow band of the mineral blanketing the continent.

At that moment, Kirk's communicator beeped insistently. "Kirk here," he responded, snatching the implement from his waist and raising it to his lips.

"Sorry to disturb you, sir, but we are receiving a coded transmission from Starfleet, Captain's Eyes Only." The Communications Officer managed to sound quite apologetic.

"All right, Uhura, I'll beam back in a few minutes. Kirk out."

Closing the device for a moment, he turned to his two companions. "Well, gentlemen, it looks like you're on your own from here on out. Do try to stay out of trouble," he asked affectionately. The grin that stole over his features was priceless, saying he had significant, personal experience with these two, and knew exactly what to expect.

"I can assure you, Captain, I shall do my utmost to prevent Dr. McCoy from experiencing any adverse circumstances while engaged in this mission," the Vulcan intoned blandly.

"And just what the hell is _that_ supposed to mean, Spock? I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself, thanks," McCoy retorted gruffly, his face darkening.

"Seems to me, when the two of you are together, you manage to find nothing _but_ trouble," Kirk snorted, eyes shifting back and forth from one to the other, a slightly concerned frown furrowing his brow.

***

"Well, we could have worse duty, Spock." The two had continued on after Kirk's departure, once again following a course due west through the thick greenery. "The temperature's comfortable, and the scenery is stunning." He paused to examine a large, deep purple blossom with a yellow interior, its shape reminiscent of a kernel of popped corn. "I can't remember the last time we visited a planet with such a wide variety of native plants," McCoy said, trying to engage the Vulcan in light conversation. "Too bad we aren't here under more favorable circumstances."

"Indeed. And to facilitate a successful completion of the task at hand, we need to secure concrete information regarding the nature of the scientists' disappearance. This could best be achieved by you tending to your tricorder, as our time to acquire this data is severely limited," Spock said distractedly, his eyes never leaving the readout on his screen.

McCoy's mood soured quickly. "What's your rush, Spock? Have to get back to the ship for a hot date tonight?" The look Spock shot him could have melted neutronium. "Got it. Far be it for me to disturb your Vulcan sense of order with inane, useless comments." And with that, he moved several meters away from the Vulcan, walking a parallel course to his, muttering unintelligibly under his breath, concentrating on the readings flowing past his eyes.

A strangled cry from his left caused Spock to jerk his head up in time to see McCoy's torso swallowed up by the ground. He covered the distance between them in a few long strides, only to have his feet disappear beneath him, the rest of his body following. He estimated it was about a five meter drop before he landed in semi-darkness and knew no more.


	3. Chapter Two

**Chapter Two**

McCoy came to to the sound of Spock's voice. It was muffled and muddied, echoing hollowly in his head. Or was that a real echo? He tried mightily to get his eyes to focus on the Vulcan's face. "What happened, Spock? Where are we?" he croaked.

"We appear to have fallen through a rift in the ceiling of one of the underground caverns, and are presently located in a subterranean chamber."

"Then why isn't it pitch black in here?"

"There is some residual light from the opening overhead, although the sun has long since set, but the vast majority of illumination is currently emanating from bioluminescent organisms which have affixed themselves to a significant portion of the surface area within the confines of this space," Spock explained patiently.

"How long have we been down here?"

"Three hours, forty-three minutes."

"We were supposed to report back three hours ago." McCoy sat up abruptly, and quickly wished he hadn't. His head began to swim most uncomfortably, and there was an acute, stabbing pain in his left wrist. He gathered the offending arm to his chest, resting his throbbing head on his bent knees.

"Doctor, are you injured?" Spock asked, his tone belying his concern.

"My head is killing me, and my wrist is broken, but that seems to be the extent of my problems," he replied, doing a mental assessment of his body as he answered. "How about you, Spock?" McCoy asked, raising his head slowly and meeting the Vulcan's eyes.

"I have not suffered any physical damage."

"Let me be the judge of that," McCoy said testily, knowing Spock's proclivity for trivializing his own condition. He reached for his medikit, but it was not on his hip as expected. He continued to feel around, noting with dismay that his communicator was gone, too, his shattered tricorder visible a meter or so away, but breathed a little easier when his roaming hand encountered his phaser lying on the floor beside him.

"Do you have your communicator, Doctor?" Spock inquired simply.

"No. I must have lost it in the fall, along with my medikit."

"That is most unfortunate. I have been able to locate mine, but it is destroyed beyond repair. Evidently, it was beneath me when I landed," he remarked, his expression betraying a slight touch of embarrassment. "However, my tricorder landed on top of me, and was spared the same fate. It appears to be in working order."

"Who'da thought a beanpole like you'd be heavy enough to smash a communicator to smithereens?" McCoy commented wryly.

"I did have some assistance – the stone floor was a significant contributor to the outcome," Spock said, somewhat haughtily, as if implying the doctor should have been able to reach that conclusion on his own.

McCoy peered into the dim gloom, trying to make out their surroundings. They were in a vaulted chamber, the ceiling a good five meters above them. The room was mostly unadorned, the occasional stalactite jutting down a meter or so from above like the rib bones of some long-dead behemoth. The floor was not all stone, and it was probably the fact that he had landed on a soft mound of earth and dried grass that prevented more extensive injuries. It had fallen through the hole in the ceiling, no doubt, accumulating over time. Their current location was cylindrical and surprisingly uniform in diameter, almost as if it had been carved out by a giant drill. The walls were very smooth and that, combined with their concave curvature, would prevent them from reaching the hole they'd fallen through.

"There's no way we can climb out the way we came in, Spock," he mused aloud. "So what do we do now? Sit here and wait to be rescued?"

"It will be most difficult for a search party to discover us, unless they happen to chance across the same fissure we encountered. The perdantium present in the ceiling above will obscure our life form readings. As the sun has already set, it is logical to assume that the teams have been recalled and the search will continue tomorrow."

"So we sit here in the dark and wait for morning?"

"Or there is another option open to us."

"And that would be…"

"According to my tricorder, there is an opening to the surface seven point three kilometers from here. It is a roundabout route, but the egress is three point two kilometers from the scientists' camp. If we were to follow that course, we could return to the team's compound and await rescue there. Despite the fact that it will be impossible to contact the ship, the search parties should resume their efforts from that location in the morning. In addition, we are invisible to the ship's sensors at present due to the perdantium. It would be logical to assume that the _Enterprise _will be scanning for us during the planet's night. In order to be detected, we must exit these caves." Spock cocked his head, raising an expectant eyebrow at the doctor, waiting for a response.

"Are we going to be able to safely traipse through these tunnels without proper equipment or a decent light source?" McCoy asked doubtfully.

"The route I have selected seems to be a rather uniform one, without significant or abrupt deviations in elevation. And if the bioluminescent organisms are as prolific throughout as they are here, lighting should not be a major concern. We can always attempt it, and should the task prove too monumental, return here. That is, if you are able to travel, Doctor?"

"It's only my wrist that's broken, not my legs," came McCoy's terse reply, his indignation at the remark quite apparent.

"I only meant if you felt well enough. It was fairly obvious earlier that you were experiencing some dizziness and disorientation," Spock's response held no trace of censure.

McCoy's felt something shift in him at that. In his own odd, alien, purely Vulcan way, Spock was just plain worried about him. He nodded in agreement. "Yeah, it was a little rough when I first came to, but the lightheadedness has passed and as long as there's no major climbing involved, I should be able to manage, even with the bum hand." To further prove his point, he rose steadily to his feet. "Wanna go now? No time like the present," he said amiably, gathering his phaser off the cavern floor and replacing it on his hip.

***

He was in his quarters, decoding the message, when the intercom sounded.

"Bridge to Captain Kirk."

"Kirk here. What is it Lieutenant?"

"It's Lieutenant Commander Giotto from the surface, sir," Uhura informed him. "He says he needs to speak with you urgently."

"Okay, patch him through."

"Captain, Giotto here. We've encountered…a slight snafu," he began hesitantly.

"What kind of a snafu, Chief?"

"Well…I don't know how to tell you this, sir—"

"Giotto…," his voice had taken on a low, silky quality – a sure sign of the captain's displeasure. Kirk's patience was starting to wear thin.

"It's about the Doctor and Mr. Spock, sir...," he started off in a rush, but trailed off uncertainly. Kirk could almost see the man fidgeting, shifting nervously from foot to foot. He experienced a sudden, acute pain in his gut.

"What about them, Commander?" he asked, warnings starting to go off in his head.

"They're missing, sir. We—"

"What?" Kirk could not keep the shock and concern from his voice.

"They never checked in at all by communicator, and failed to show for the rendezvous at the scheduled time. I had several security contingents sweep the route they were on, but there's no sign of them, sir. It's as if they vanished into thin air," the Security Chief finished uncomfortably.

Kirk blinked, taken aback by that revelation. "How is that possible? They are both seasoned officers." He could perhaps understand McCoy getting caught up in something and losing track of time, but Spock?

"I'm sure I don't know, sir," came the staticky reply.

Kirk glanced at the chronometer on his desk, and realized it had been dark on the surface of the planet for at least half an hour.

"Do you want us to continue the search, sir? We could have night vision equipment sent down—"

"No Commander," he interrupted. "Recall all the teams at once. First the scientists, now Bones and Spock. I won't lose any more men," he stated decisively. "We'll search with the ship's sensors."

"Aye, sir, Giotto out." And the transmission was cut from the other end.

Kirk leaned forward, elbows on his desk, eyes closed, massaging his temples which had started to pound unmercifully. It was bad enough that two crewmen were unaccounted for, but Bones and Spock together? If whatever it was that was causing people to go missing on the planet didn't get them first, their constant bickering and veiled hostility toward one another was sure to do them in. Why had he ever thought it was a good idea to leave the two of them alone? He'd hoped they'd be able to overcome their differences, and had seen their friendship slowly begin to evolve over the last year as they came to trust and rely on each other more and more. Would the fragile bond stand up to whatever it was they were now facing?

He deliberately steered his thoughts in another direction. There had to be some rational explanation for their disappearance; he was probably worrying over nothing. He drew a hand across his face, rose from his desk and headed purposefully for the bridge, the coded message temporarily forgotten.


	4. Chapter Three

**Chapter Three**

Two hours into the trek, they emerged into a large cavern, glittering with all manner of cave formations, complete with a small, crystal clear pool off to one side. It was this that drew the doctor's immediate attention.

"Boy, I could sure use a drink, Spock. Can you check that water, see if it's safe?" he asked, gesturing to the subterranean pond.

After a momentary scan, Spock confirmed that it was indeed fit for consumption. McCoy moved with some alacrity, squatting at the edge, dipping his good hand in, bringing the cool, clear liquid to his lips. "You gonna have some, Spock? It's fresh and clean, and nice and cold."

"Thank you, no. I do not require fluids at this time. Vulcans are desert creatures, their need for water significantly less than that of humans." His attempt to reassure McCoy only succeeded in arousing the doctor's suspicions.

McCoy watched him in the faint light, noting a slight quivering permeating Spock's thin frame. "You okay?" he questioned, his voice edged with concern.

"I am functional," came the stiff reply.

"The hell you are," McCoy said, rising to his feet and coming to stand in front of the Vulcan. "You're shaking like a leaf, Spock. Are you hurt?" He couldn't stop himself from placing an anxious hand on the Vulcan's trembling forearm.

It was obvious Spock was in no mood to discuss it, but the doctor's gaze bored into him, its intensity jarring. Spock dropped his eyes, and began somewhat uncomfortably, "the temperature here is significantly below the average to which I am accustomed." McCoy could only imagine what that confession had cost the Vulcan. Spock hated to admit to weakness of any kind.

"So, you're just cold. No wonder you wanted to walk out of here, instead of sitting in this dank, chilly place awaiting rescue. At least if we were moving, that would help you to generate some heat and stay a little warmer." His eyes then took on a knowing look. "And you didn't want a drink, because the water is too cold," he reasoned, puzzling it out, "and that would have caused a drop in your core temperature. Is there anything I can do, Spock? You know, we could rest here a bit, use our phasers to heat up a rock and let you thaw out a little before we go on," he added helpfully, releasing his hold on the Vulcan's arm.

"That will not be necessary, Doctor."

"Blast it all, Spock!" He found he couldn't keep the frustration and sudden flare of anger in check. "Stop trying to play the martyr! If we went on without a break, we'd reach the scientist's camp sometime in the middle of the night. We have no communicators and their radio was demolished, so we'd have no way to contact the ship, anyway. Unless the _Enterprise _is actively scanning for us we'd have to wait to be found regardless. Staying here for an hour or so isn't going to have an undue impact on our being rescued, and it sure as hell doesn't make any sense to go on if you're not functioning on all thrusters. Besides," he threw in, as a way to save face for the Vulcan, "I'm tired, too. I could do with an hour's rest and a bit of warming up. C'mon, Spock, it'd be 'logical' for us to take a break."

"Since you put it that way, Doctor, I can see no alternative but to concur."

***

Despite the chill and the steady throb in his left wrist, McCoy had managed to drift off into an uneasy sleep, dozing in fits and starts, curled up on the cavern's floor, the adrenaline rush having worn off long ago. He lay next to a large rock they had phasered, but the heat radiating off it provided minimal comfort. Spock's voice roused him from his troubled slumber.

"There is considerable activity within the lower levels of the subterranean chambers," Spock informed McCoy, dubiously studying his tricorder readings.

"What?" He snapped instantly awake, rolling to an upright position. Spock was seated next to him, his back resting against their temporary heat source, the instrument in his hand beeping and clicking softly. "Why didn't we pick it up earlier? Life forms?"

"They are indeed life forms, but not humanoid or even mammalian. More entomolic in nature."

"You mean bugs?" McCoy asked, aghast at the revelation.

"I believe that is what I just said, Doctor."

"Well c'mon Spock, spit it out."

"They are similar to the Terran orders Isoptera and Hymenoptera, but are approximately a thousand times larger."

McCoy's eyes widened suddenly in the weak bioluminescent glow. "You mean giant ants? Roughly the same size as we are?" His eyes slid nervously to one of the passages branching off the chamber they were in. "You think maybe they had something to do with the disappearance of the survey team?"

"Quite probable. It is common knowledge that this continent is criss-crossed with a subterranean labyrinth system. It would only have been logical for the team to explore these tunnels, in hopes of discovering minerals important to the Federation. Determining the content of these underground passages was an impossibility using ship's sensors due to the presence of the perdantium, to which they have proven impenetrable. However, there was no indication in my preliminary assessment of the records we located that they had done so at present."

"In other words, we aren't sure if they knew about the giant bugs, and whether or not they are friendly." This was just getting better and better by the minute.

"I think it is safe to surmise that they are indeed hostile – it would go a long way to explaining the devastation we saw at base camp," Spock stated matter-of-factly.

"But why? Surely if the team did stumble on the bugs, they would have acted in accordance with the Prime Directive and shown no ill intent?" McCoy had shifted his position and was on his knees now, peering at the Vulcan in the dim light.

"It may have been unintentional, Doctor. If the scientists did begin to explore these tunnels, the creatures may have viewed that as a sign of aggression. You are also operation under the pretense that they are intelligent, and would have been able to accurately surmise the reason behind the team's investigation of these chambers."

"Do you think it's possible? That they're intelligent, I mean."

Spock pondered that for a moment before answering. "It is difficult to speculate without further data, but similar species we have encountered have shown only a rudimentary 'hive' intelligence."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning there is no independent thought per se; actions are controlled by the 'head' of the hive, which directs the activities and movements of all individuals under it," the Vulcan supplied.

"So how do we find out if this is just a hive mentality, or something more?"

"In order to do so, we would need to penetrate deeper into the caverns and observe the beings who live here."

"Maybe we should. What if some of the missing team members are down there? We could kill two birds with one stone." Spock saw a shudder pass through the doctor as he considered the prospect of the scientists being in the insects' lair.

The Vulcan eyed him warily. "That course of action is not recommended, especially since I am not reading any human life forms, and you are injured," he said, staring pointedly at the wrist McCoy was cradling.

"Oh for heaven's sake, Spock, it's not like I'm an invalid or something – haven't we been through this already?" He was starting to get annoyed.

"Perhaps I could go alone, and you can remain here. I could rendezvous with you later–"

McCoy grew alarmed at that statement. "No! We shouldn't split up. We might not find each other again."

"Then in that case, it might be best if we were to continue to execute our original plan, and attempt to make our way to the surface."

"But what if there are survivors down there, Spock? It's our duty to rescue them." It was evident that the thought of the team being in close proximity to the bugs weighed heavily on the doctor's mind.

"Doubtful, since my tricorder is not registering any human life forms," Spock reiterated.

"Is it possible that you aren't able to read them due to the perdantium?"

Spock's brow furrowed momentarily. "That is always a possibility, but the alien life forms are clearly indicated," he reasoned.

"We should at least–"

Spock held up his hand, silencing McCoy, cocking his head slightly to one side. "Doctor, I hear something approaching," he announced in a hoarse whisper. "We should endeavor to make ourselves scarce," he said, collecting the doctor, mindful not to disturb the injured arm, and pulling McCoy after himself behind a large stalagmite.

The two peered cautiously from their hidden vantage point, and McCoy was unable to suppress a grimace when the alien stepped into view. The creature was approximately two and a half meters tall, with six appendages, two on which it walked upright, the remaining four jutting out from what would be considered the thorax on a Terran insect. Each of the four, jointed, 'arms' ended in a single, razor-sharp claw. Its body was composed of three separate yet indistinct sections which except for the head were roughly the same diameter, its appearance closely resembling a termite. The exterior was hard and shiny, brownish gray in color and reminiscent of the carapace of a crab.

The head was about the size and shape of a large watermelon, sporting four antennae, which were currently waving and writhing of their own volition. The three eyes, which did not appear to be compound, were located one on either side of the head, and one in the middle, essentially giving the alien a one hundred eighty degree field of vision. Its pincered mouth was hard and serrated, and the animal was clicking its jaws together furiously at the moment, possibly some form of communication or a call for assistance.

The creature had stopped, peering into the darkness, antennae waving furiously. Zeroing in on their location, it started to move purposefully toward their hiding place, its jaws clacking menacingly. McCoy fumbled for his phaser, but Spock already had his in hand, the ruby beam lancing out and catching the alien in the head. It dropped immediately, but suddenly their chamber was swarming with the giant insects; at least a dozen had come to their comrade's aid. They managed to stun several more, but were soon overwhelmed. McCoy felt himself lifted in the bony appendages and turned to look for Spock, but something pricked his neck and everything went black.


	5. Chapter Four

**Chapter Four**

Kirk was tossing and turning in his bunk, consumed by thoughts of Spock and McCoy. Sensor sweeps of the planet had revealed no sign of them, Chekov staying three hours beyond the end of his shift to man the instruments himself, but to no avail.

"_I have swept the area numerous times, Keptin, but there is only so far they could have traveled on foot from the camp."_

"_Spock did mention there was perdantium present in the overhead structure of the tunnel system. I can't imagine he'd choose to go in there, knowing that we'd be unable to detect them, unless he had a very __good reason." He halted his pacing, trying desperately to unravel the current Gordian Knot, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "Well, it's obvious they aren't in the immediate vicinity of base camp, at least not anywhere on the surface. Mr. Chekov, scan for any warp or ion trails leaving the planet as well. We must consider the possibility that they were beamed aboard an enemy ship that has since left the area."_

"_Aye, sair. I have already been searching for evidence of other ships in the vicinity of Beta Arcida IV, but have detected none so far."_

_Kirk resumed his pacing, hands clasped behind his back, practically wearing a groove in the deck in front of the viewscreen, muttering to himself occasionally._

"_Keptin!" Chekov's loud declaration startled a number of the bridge crew, "I am detecting life forms below!" _

"_Bones and Spock?" Kirk asked, hurrying to the science station and peering over Chekov's shoulder, the light from the scanner bathing his features in a soft, blue glow._

"_Negative, sair. They read as arthropod, only on a vast scale."_

_There was an audible gasp from the communications station, Uhura covering her mouth with the back of her hand._

_Kirk blinked, stunned by that piece of information. "That's impossible. How could we – or the team on the planet – have missed something that large?" he demanded, meeting Chekov's eyes with a disbelieving stare._

"_What if they're nocturnal, Captain?" Sulu chimed in. The system of tunnels would be an ideal habitat for them, and we wouldn't have been able to detect them during the day due to the perdantium present in the subterranean chambers."_

"_Then why was no mention of the aliens made previously, either in the reports the expedition sent to Starfleet or their logs?" the Captain snapped, his frustration and concern visibly escalating._

"_Maybe the team only encountered them recently," Chekov speculated, "and that's why they all disappeared suddenly." A slight tremor shot through the Russian as he imagined a face-to-face meeting with a bug as tall as a shuttlecraft._

"_Don't we have an entomologist aboard, Lieutenant?" Kirk questioned, addressing Uhura. "What's his name? Rodriguez? Rieger?"_

"_It's Lieutenant Rodgers, sir," she added helpfully._

"_Get him up here. On the double."_

"_Aye, sir."_

The searches had proven futile. There was no evidence of another ship in this sector, hostile or otherwise, or of the two men within a five kilometer radius of the beamdown site. He had finally urged the Russian to relinquish the scanner to his relief, on the pretense that it would be light over the scientist's camp in less than four hours, and the search on the ground could resume at that time.

He willed himself to rest, knowing that he'd be among the searchers beaming down in the morning, but to no avail. He didn't like mysteries, and this was a doozy. Giant bugs that had gone undetected by the research team for over two weeks? Were they somehow responsible for the missing scientists as well as the disappearance of his two friends, or was it merely a coincidence? If they were, then why did it take them so long to attack, and if they weren't, then how did a trained exploration team and two experienced officers vanish without a trace? It was baffling to be sure. Bones, he could see, maybe, but Spock? The man was the epitome of efficiency and caution.

McCoy did seem to have a knack for finding trouble. Stubbornly denying the existence of the Black Knight on the shore leave planet in the Omicron Delta region, thereby almost getting himself killed in the process. Ignoring the local customs on Capella IV, resulting in Eleen declaring him the father to her newborn child after the untimely death of her husband_. _And, of course, the cordrazine incident. Hardly his fault, but he did almost succeed in irrevocably altering the present timeline. _Leave it to Bones to somehow put his foot in it,_ he thought darkly.

_Then again, it could just as easily have been Spock, _his conscience argued. Intense scientific curiosity, combined with a particularly willful stubborn streak could only lead to trouble. Had Spock somehow detected the giant insects and gone to investigate these unexpected and unlikely adversaries? Were they, in fact, adversaries? Were he and McCoy facing off against them even now?

Not to mention Spock's penchant for protecting the humans in his midst by using himself as a shield. Visions of flying poison thorns, lightning strikes and flintlock rifles discharging in a puff of white smoke swam before his eyes. Spock, alone on a shuttlecraft, flying into a giant space amoeba in an effort to save the ship. Mind-melding with a condescending alien probe that imagined itself superior to mere biological units. Trying to protect McCoy in a Roman arena while fending off his own attacker as the doctor struggled with his opponent.

The images went on and on.

The squawk of the intercom above his head snapped him firmly into the moment.

In his haste to answer it, he barked his elbow on the shelf above his bed. Suppressing a curse, he snapped open the channel, absently rubbing the offending joint.

"Kirk here, do you have news, Lieutenant?"

"Not of the missing personnel, sir. I'm sorry," Lieutenant Evans began. He was the gamma shift communications officer. "We are receiving a distress call from the _Huron_, a civilian transport, registry number A7625E. Her captain is reporting damage to the warp baffle plates, which necessitated a complete shutdown of the engines. She is currently adrift, and on backup battery power. Life support systems will fail in approximately thirty-six hours. Complement is ninety-seven passengers and seven crew."

Damn! He couldn't ignore that. "Other vessels within range?" he asked tersely.

"Negative, sir." This from LTjg Harriman, the night-shift navigator. "Presently, we are the only ship in a position to respond in sufficient time to rescue the passengers before a catastrophic failure of life support systems."

"ETA to their location?"

"At warp five, we could be there in twenty-eight hours, sir," came the rapid response from the helmsman, Lieutenant Van der Berg, Kirk noted idly. It was nice to know that no matter what shift was manning the bridge, efficiency was not lacking. The thought provided him little consolation, however.

"Evans, acknowledge that distress call. Inform her captain of our ETA. On my way. Kirk out." His thoughts in turmoil, gut roiling, he spared a glance at his chronometer. It was oh three twenty-three.

***

He awoke shivering, the cold having permeated every fiber of his being. Raising himself carefully on his arms, he fought to suppress the chills that wracked his body, searching the gloom purposefully until his eyes found what they sought: McCoy's crumpled form rested face down in a heap on the floor of the chamber, several meters from him. Rising unsteadily to his feet, he stumbled over to the doctor, dropping to his knees at McCoy's side. He pressed his fingers to the doctor's neck and was relieved to find a pulse, rapid but steady. Reassured that McCoy was in no imminent danger, Spock rose once again and began exploring the confines of their prison.

The pit was oblong, perhaps twelve meters long and eight meters wide, the rock walls damp and slimy, the smooth sides providing little to no means of scaling them. It appeared to be the result of a natural rift in the floor, a small depression within a much larger room. The back wall extended upwards of twenty meters or so, where it met the ceiling. The front wall rose about four meters above the ground, spreading out to become the bottom level of the main chamber. Unable to see what was above, Spock nonetheless realized that this structure represented their only means of escape.

The bioluminescent organisms were only present on the ceiling, allowing for minimal lighting within their cell. He doubted McCoy would be able to see more than a meter or so in front of him. As he explored the perimeter, his boot contacted something soft on the floor below. Glancing down he noticed a large, bulky object resting against the smooth wall, traces of its former owner strewn across the uneven ground before it: a hiking shoe, empty, laces still tied, lying on its side in a pool of sticky, red blood which had clumped together in small, congealed agglomerations as the liquid cooled and coagulated. Avoiding the blood and shoe, he bent to retrieve the larger item, a standard-issue Fleet pack, carrying it back to where his companion still lay. Seating himself beside the doctor, he began to examine the contents.

Next to him, McCoy stirred slightly, moaning softly as he pulled the injured arm from under his body. "Spock, is that you?" he asked uncertainly.

Unexplained relief flooded the Vulcan, and he fought to keep his voice steady. "Yes, Doctor, I am here."

"And where is here?" McCoy asked, struggling to attain an upright position, resting his back against the wall of the chamber.

"It seems we have been taken captive, and are currently located in a large, naturally formed trench in an undisclosed area of the subterranean caverns." He watched McCoy process that information, the horror at remembering the creatures that had brought them here flitting across the doctor's face. "Apparently, we are not the only ones to have been held in this place," he remarked, proffering the pack for McCoy's inspection.

"What is it, Spock?" McCoy asked, his tone subdued, as if he already knew the answer.

"It is a standard-issue Fleet field pack," the Vulcan replied, "undoubtedly belonging to one of the members of the expedition." He started removing the items located within, setting them on the ground before the two of them: A dozen pitons, a hammer, two carabiners, and several lengths of rope.

"I wonder what happened to its previous owner," McCoy commented, his eyes sweeping the confines of the pit, but unable to make out anything in the shadowy darkness.

"I believe it is safe to assume that the individual or individuals in question were removed by our captors."

"Why? Isn't there a chance he, or they, escaped?"

Not wanting to alarm the doctor by mentioning the lone shoe and the blood, Spock tried for a different tack. "It is doubtful one person would have been able to escape from here unassisted, not to mention, the rope, as well as the other items in the pack, could have proven quite useful. It would have been illogical to simply leave it behind, or to fail to use them as a means of escape."

"Did it ever occur to you that maybe whoever it was was just plain scared out of their wits and didn't take the time to 'logically assess' the items' value?" McCoy's voice took on a harsh, biting tone, and they instantly heard scuttling from above.

Their chatter had apparently aroused the suspicion of their 'guard' who poked its head over the edge of the pit, jaws clicking furiously.

"Why do I get the feeling it's telling us to 'shut up?'" McCoy stated flatly.

"That is quite probable, but as the universal translator has no frame of reference for this type of communication, it is doubtful that we can know for certain."

"Well, that explains why the owner of the pack didn't simply use the pitons and rope to climb out of here," the doctor noted, jerking his thumb at the head peering down at them. The two men lapsed into silence, and the alien withdrew from view.

Spock switched gears, lowering his voice to barely a whisper. "Have you sustained any additional injuries?"

McCoy searched Spock's face at that, and thanks to the dim bioluminescent glow emanating from above, was able to barely make out the Vulcan's look of concern, Spock's hand on his elbow, an eyebrow on the rise, a slight frown creasing his forehead.

"Except for my headache being back, I seem to be fine other than the broken wrist," he stated matter-of-factly, drawing the arm close to his chest. "Boy would I kill for one of those migraine pills I'm always pawning off on Jim right about now. Or a hypo of Lodinax." His declaration was met with an arched eyebrow. He dismissed it outright. "You?"

"I have suffered no notable damage, with the exception of a few minor bruises and contusions," Spock admitted, withdrawing his hand.

"What now?" McCoy asked, raising his eyes to the upper edge of the pit.

"I suggest we find a means of escaping our present area of confinement and attempt to make our way to the surface," the image of the footwear and bodily fluid not far from his mind, speculating as to the fate of its owner.

"How? We'd surely get lost in this maze, or more likely run into another welcoming committee, and they might not treat us so kindly next time," he said sarcastically. "Not to mention, we have a major problem waiting for us up there," McCoy said, gesturing to the sentry above.

"Fortunately, I still have my tricorder. I had it slung around my body, and its significance was obviously lost on our captors. We can use it to navigate the tunnels and find the nearest point of egress."

"And your phaser?" McCoy asked hopefully.

"That is nowhere to be found. Presumably dropped at the scene of the skirmish after I lost consciousness. Yours?"

"The same," McCoy admitted. "Great. We have no weapons, and find ourselves at the bottom of a deep, dark pit with 'Antzilla' standing watch over us. Just how do you propose we get out of here?" McCoy asked skeptically.

"'Antzilla?'" Spock was clearly at a loss to understand.

"Never mind," McCoy said, waving his good arm dismissively.

"If this is a hive intelligence," Spock continued, picking up on their discussion from earlier, "chances are that I can find the right mental 'frequency' to distract our guard."

"Surely you don't mean to get into direct mental contact with that thing? Its mind must be totally alien compared to ours. You have no idea what it could do to you." McCoy's voice had risen slightly, betraying his worry and concern.

"I do not intend to establish direct contact, merely offer a suggestion – to leave its post and provide assistance elsewhere, perhaps."

"Will that work?"

"We shall find out." Spock closed his eyes, raising his arms slightly, fingers outstretched, a frown creasing his brow as the Vulcan focused his attention inward. McCoy gingerly removed Spock's tricorder from around his body, not wanting to disturb the Vulcan's concentration. He switched it on, training it on the guard above them.

The sentry had been scuttling slowly back and forth, pacing as it were, when all motion ceased. "I think you found the right frequency, Spock. It just stopped moving."

Acknowledging the doctor's comment with a barely perceptible nod of the head, his focus on the task at hand visibly increased. Suddenly there was a flurry of movement from above, and then all grew quiet.

"You did it, Spock, it's gone. What did you tell it anyway?"

"I made it believe there was a disturbance at the mouth of one of the outermost tunnels, and instructed it to proceed there will all due haste, collecting as many of its compatriots as possible along the way."

"Wow, that's some trick," McCoy remarked appreciatively. "Okay, now that Gargantula is out of the picture, let's work on getting out of here."

Spock refrained from comment. "A logical suggestion, Doctor. Since the height of the enclosure is approximately four point five meters, I believe you should be able to reach the top if you stand on my shoulders." Spock sidled up to the edge of their confine and bent down, hands on his knees, offering the doctor his back. Slinging the tricorder over his shoulder, McCoy climbed onto the Vulcan's back, his good hand against the wall of the pit, steadying him. He inched his booted feet onto Spock's shoulders, feeling the Vulcan's hands lock around his ankles as Spock straightened himself, raising the doctor ever closer to the edge of their prison.

"Almost there, Spock. Just another twenty-five centimeters or so," McCoy said, sweat breaking out on his forehead despite the chill of their surroundings. He felt Spock grasp the bottom of his boots and push, boosting him the necessary distance for his good hand to contact solid ground. "I'm at the edge, just a little more," he urged. His hand scrabbled for purchase, and he pulled himself up, feeling Spock push from below. Rolling onto his back, he panted for a few moments, chest heaving as he fought to catch his breath, his legs still dangling over the edge of the pit.

Turning back onto his stomach, he changed positions, peering over the edge. "Toss the rope up, Spock. I'll find something to tie it to, and you can use it to get out. Even with two good hands, I doubt I'd be able to pull you out."

The rope landed with a thump beside him, and he clambered to his feet, searching for a secure place to anchor it. Most of the stalagmites in the room appeared thin and brittle, but canvassing the confines of the chamber, he discovered a rock jutting up from the floor. Pressing against it with all his weight and his one good hand, he was relieved when it didn't budge. "Hold on, Spock, I found something to tie it to. Gimme a minute to get it on there."

"I trust you paid attention during the history course at the Academy detailing the proper formation of various nautical knots," Spock said drolly, his deep baritone floating up quietly from the darkness.

"Ha, ha, very funny, Spock," the doctor remarked coolly, looping the rope several times around the base of the rock before bending to secure the ends.

"I assure you, that was not my intention. The comment was meant in all seriousness."

"Of course it was," McCoy muttered angrily to himself. "As if it's not bad enough that we're trapped in a dank, cold cave with a swarm of giant bugs who'd like nothing more than to play hide and seek with us, I've gotta be stuck here with a Vulcan who's picked the worst possible time and place to develop a sense of humor." Unable to use his injured hand to cinch the knot tight, he stepped on one end, tugging for all he was worth on the other with his good hand.

"Done. Here it comes," he said, walking to the edge of the pit and dropping the coil of rope over the side. He saw the line go taut, and Spock's head appeared at the edge a few moments later. Throwing a leg over the lip of the crater, Spock worked himself over the side to stand beside McCoy, surveying their surroundings with a rapid glance. The doctor noted idly that Spock had slipped the field pack over his thin shoulders.

"Ah. A bowline – 'The Yachtsman's Favorite,'" Spock commented, his eyes coming to rest on McCoy's handiwork. "Easily formed and versatile, it can be used in a wide variety of situations. However, it was tied incorrectly."

"Blast it, Spock! Must you always be so God damned critical? It worked, didn't it? You're here, and not down there," he said, gesturing to the gaping hole in the floor, "and yet something tells me I'm gonna regret that," McCoy commented gruffly. _Too bad there isn't one I can use to tie your mouth shut,_ he added silently. He knew this train of thought was unproductive, and yet, he couldn't help himself. He tried valiantly to quash his sudden anger. Why was it, that no matter how bad the situation, Spock had an uncanny knack for bringing out the worst in him?

"Dr. McCoy, please. Endeavor to keep your voice down. If these life forms are indeed similar to the Terran Isoptera, then their sense of hearing is particularly keen. It would be wise to proceed with as little noise as possible," Spock said in an irritatingly placating tone.

McCoy harrumphed at that, but somehow managed to hold his tongue. Spock gestured to the tricorder, and McCoy handed it over without comment. The Vulcan then bent to untie the length of rope, coiling it carefully before placing it in his pack. Focusing the instrument on the tunnel ahead of them, he started scanning, and the two set off wordlessly in search of a passage leading to the surface.


	6. Chapter Five

**Chapter** **Five**

They spent the next several hours trudging through the damp, gloomy labyrinth, using the tricorder to avoid the areas of higher concentration of the aliens, Spock convincing the stray insects they would encounter to join the search elsewhere, heading steadily toward the nearest opening to the outside. They had traveled in relative silence, Spock gesturing every once in a while for McCoy to secret himself when a rogue bug wandered too near.

After what seemed to be an interminable amount of time had passed, tired of focusing on Spock's shadowy back bobbing before him, McCoy's thoughts began to drift. Surely they had to reach the exit soon. It wouldn't be long now. A quick hike back to camp, a brief wait for the rescue teams – hell, given the planet's shorter rotational period it might even be light already – and they'd be back aboard the ship before he could say 'beam me up, Scotty.' And once there, his first order of business, after having M'Benga tend to his wrist, of course, would be a nice, long, hot shower – no sonics today – and then a huge meal. He'd indulge himself – lord knows he deserved it: Chicken fried steak smothered in cream gravy, hot buttered grits and fried okra. Yep, what he needed was a heaping plate of Southern comfort food. Too bad it wouldn't taste anything like his momma used to make. But it would have to serve. And then he'd let Jim have it for seeing fit to strand him here with Mr. Ray of Sunshine incarnate.

His cheeks burned, some of the anger returning as he thought about the knot again. Why was he letting it bother him so much? Lord knows, Spock could irritate him with the best of them, but this was just ridiculous. _I must be tired,_ he theorized, _and hungry, and particularly grouchy, even for me._ He permitted himself a small grin in the semi-darkness. Thoughts of dinner came to the fore again. He could almost smell it now. Wait. Something was different…

Coming out of his silent reverie, he realized there was a significant change in the air. It was not nearly as dank and stale as it had been, and he felt a distinct breeze ruffle his hair. He found that he couldn't hold his tongue any longer. "How much further, Spock?" he hissed.

"On our present course," Spock paused, consulting his tricorder once again, "we should reach the surface in six point seven minutes," came the muted reply.

"It's amazing that we've been able to avoid detection so far. I guess we've been lucky," McCoy remarked softly from behind him.

"Luck had nothing to do with it," Spock countered. "The majority of the creatures have congregated at another entrance to the subterranean tunnels, thanks to the erroneous information supplied by our guard and the occasional alien we encountered along the way."

"Yeah, yeah, I get it. Vulcan mysticism to the rescue," McCoy remarked dismissively.

"I would hardly classify telepathic ability as 'mysticism', Doctor."

"Of course you wouldn't," McCoy quipped.

Spock halted abruptly, concentrating on the readout from his tricorder, and even the doctor was able to make out the unmistakable sound of a multitude of bony appendages thundering furiously through a side-tunnel.

"Run!" Spock shouted, the need for stealth no longer present, thrusting the doctor in front of him. It would now be a race to see if they could make it to the mouth of the tunnel before being overrun by their pursuers.

As they sped along the confines of the narrow passageway, McCoy in the lead, Spock could hear the aliens approaching ever closer. Suddenly, one of the oversized insects sank its claw into the pack on Spock's back, lifting him bodily off the ground. He managed to wriggle free of the straps, the tricorder wrenched from his hand, skittering across the floor of the tunnel. Landing on his feet, he set off after McCoy once again, his would-be captor pausing to examine its prize.

As they burst out into the daylight, one of their attackers caught up with Spock, raking a claw down the length of the Vulcan's back. He stumbled, but regaining his footing, continued to pound after McCoy. They ran for a hundred meters or so before realizing their pursuers had given up the chase. Spock collapsed in a heap, McCoy turning at the sudden noise and rushing to the Vulcan's side.

Blood was oozing liberally from the deep gash on his back, seeping into the torn edges of his tunic. McCoy peeled off his own blue shirt, pressing it into the wound in an effort to staunch the emerald flow. Spock tried to sit up, but a gentle hand on his shoulder stopped the motion.

"Just rest for a few minutes. You were lucky. Eight more centimeters to the left and it would have hit your spine." He lapsed into silence, lifting the makeshift field dressing to assess the damage more carefully. The cut extended from the Vulcan's right shoulder blade to the waistband of his uniform pants. "It seems our insectoid friends have given up the chase for the moment. I wonder why they didn't follow us," he mused aloud, once again applying steady pressure to the injury.

"Given that they live below the surface of the planet, the only light the dim glow given off by the bioluminescent organisms, they are probably unable to tolerate direct sunlight," Spock answered, his reply muffled by the grass under his cheek.

"But we know they venture out, Spock. Only they could have been the reason behind the devastation we saw at the survey team's camp."

"It is quite probable that the attack occurred at night. Without prior indication that there was a hostile, indigenous species present the team would have felt no need to post a sentry."

"Makes sense," McCoy agreed. He switched gears. "Can you travel? We have to get back to the encampment. If Jim's still looking for us, that would be his focal point for the search."

"A logical assumption, Doctor." McCoy could see Spock's brow furrow in concentration, his eyes squinted shut, and the flow of blood from the Vulcan's back slowed to a trickle. Spock tried to struggle to his feet.

"Hold on just a minute, Spock. Let me bandage that wound," McCoy said, gently pushing his companion back to a seated position.

"That will not be necessary, Doctor. I have already managed to stem the flow of blood considerably."

"Well that's just great, Spock." McCoy sat back on his heels and regarded the Vulcan evenly. "You may have been able to work your Vulcan voodoo to control the bleeding, but unless you can conjure up a force field as well, only a dressing is going to keep that wound clean until we get back to camp. Of course, one taste of that green blood of yours and the germs on this planet will probably swear off Vulcans for the next millennium," McCoy commented smugly.

Spock deigned not to answer.

The CMO began tearing strips from his already soiled tunic, using his teeth and one good hand to rend the material. "Here, hold this for me, will you?" McCoy asked, his attention focused on the current task, placing one end of the bandage in front of Spock's chest. Spock took the proffered strip silently, doing as he was instructed. The doctor looped it around the Vulcan's back, bringing the other end around to the other side of Spock's chest. "Think you can manage to tie that for me? I'm a little short-handed at the moment," McCoy said, grinning wickedly, laughter evident in the clear, blue eyes.

Spock chose to ignore the pun, tying the dressing firmly in place. They repeated the procedure two more times, until the doctor was satisfied that the wound was sufficiently covered.

"There, all done. Here, let me help you up," McCoy offered, rising to his feet and placing his good arm around the Vulcan's waist, steadying him as he regained his footing. "If I'm not mistaken, the camp is approximately three kilometers in that direction," McCoy said, pointing to their left and releasing his hold on the injured man's torso.

Spock's eyebrow disappeared into his hairline. "I concur. However, it was my understanding that you are a doctor, not a navigator," Spock commented, favoring the crusty medico with a bland look.

McCoy couldn't suppress the grin that stole over his features. "Spock, you took the words right outta my mouth," he remarked, chuckling, as the two set off over the uneven terrain.

***

They had been en route to the _Huron's_ location for nineteen hours, and the captain's agitation had been steadily increasing with each passing hour. When he snapped at Uhura for humming while she worked, apologizing sheepishly a few minutes later, the alpha bridge crew went out of their way to keep from doing anything that could be interpreted as disruptive or distracting. Stations were manned in stoic silence, more than a few furtive glances cast at their captain who was currently occupying the center seat, drumming his fingers on the edge of the command chair. He called Scotty, instructing the Engineer to meet him in briefing room two, and a collective sigh of relief echoed throughout the bridge as the turbolift doors closed on their short-tempered captain.

"What do you think their chances are, Chekov?" Sulu asked the navigator, moving to the conn as he had been instructed to by a gesture from Kirk as the man was leaving. The atmosphere on the bridge had lightened considerably with the captain's departure.

"I dunno," the Ensign answered honestly. "Ve scanned every inch of the main continent several times before ve left, and there was no sign of them. "And now that ve know the tunnels are probably home to the gigantic insects, they would not provide suitable protection. It does not look good."

"But Chekov, even if they weren't aware of the bugs, why would they enter the cave system?" Uhura commented from the communications station, a puzzled frown creasing her brow. "Mr. Spock had to know the ship would have been using its sensors to try and locate them, and that they'd be unable to find them if they were in the perdantium-laced tunnels. It just doesn't make any sense." She shook her head emphatically.

"No, it doesn't," Sulu added. "But irregardless, the captain believes they're still alive. Hopefully we can get this rescue over and done with and hightail it back to Beta Arcida IV while that statement's still true."

***

"Scotty, once we reach the _Huron,_ I want you to take a team over and assess the damage. See if maybe we can at least get her spaceworthy enough so she can get to Starbase Six under her own power, and we can get back to the planet and resume the search." The captain and Mr. Scott were the only ones present, and Kirk was trying to explore all their options. "If need be, we can supply repair crews or other personnel to make the journey with them and retrieve our crewmen at the starbase after we've found Bones and Spock." Despite the fact that the words were said with the captain's usual measured calm, Scott could sense the urgency behind them. The captain had briefed him as to the nature of the indigenous species they'd discovered, and he could readily understand Kirk's desire to return and resume the search as soon as possible.

"Aye sir. The lads and I will see what we can do."


	7. Chapter Six

**Chapter Six**

Forty-five minutes later, they arrived at the camp to find it utterly deserted.

"I don't understand, Spock. Surely Jim would have had the search parties rendezvous and fan out from here?" McCoy turned to him with a quizzical expression.

"Since that is obviously not the case, it is safe to assume the _Enterprise_ is no longer in orbit."

"There's no way Jim would have abandoned the search so soon. We've only been missing for around fourteen hours."

"Perhaps they were diverted from the rescue mission due to a more pressing concern," the Vulcan surmised, scanning the scene before him. His eyes came to rest on an undisturbed metal crate bearing the _Enterprise's_ call sign located in the middle of the camp. He started toward it, McCoy on his heels. Opening it, he found two tricorders, two phasers and communicators, and several weeks of MREs*, as well as a two-man survival tent among other items.

McCoy could have kissed the captain. Leave it to Jim, ever the optimist, to stubbornly believe they were still alive, and to show evidence of that belief by leaving this behind for them. "Good old Jim," McCoy said, the relief evident in his voice, sorting through the contents of the sturdy bin. Spock had seized one of the tricorders, a blinking light showing a previously unviewed message had been recorded on it. He set it for playback mode. Kirk's face suddenly filled the screen. McCoy joined Spock to watch the Captain's communiqué.

"_Bones, Spock, we had to abandon the search due to the need to answer a distress call from a passenger vessel. The details are unimportant. We should return within six days, a week at the outside." _Despite the captain's light tone, the two men could not miss the undercurrent of worry present_. "While searching for you last night we detected large insects, approximately three meters tall, in the vicinity of the camp. Our entomologic specialist speculates that they have probably been living in the maze of caves and tunnels, and are nocturnal." _McCoy snorted at that_. "They have not been detected previously due to the perdantium shielding their readings. There was no mention of them in the recorded messages the team left behind, so we must assume they were only recently discovered by the team. Or perhaps it was they who discovered the team recently." _Kirk's frustration was becoming rapidly apparent._ "It doesn't matter. The bottom line is they were probably responsible for destroying the camp. It won't be safe for you to remain there. We've left a number of supplies for you, and we'll collect you as soon as we get back. I trust you'll find the items we've left for you useful. Good luck, gentlemen, and the bugs will be enough for you to contend with. It'd be nice if you could refrain from killing each other while we're gone,"_ he commented wryly, mischief alight in the hazel eyes, a lopsided grin settling over his face in an unsuccessful attempt to mask his concern. _"See you soon. Kirk out." _ The screen went blank.

"Gee thanks, Jim. Tell us something we don't know," McCoy said darkly, all joy at having discovered the supplies rapidly evaporating. "We'll be stranded here for a week?" His expression was one of shock and disbelief. "Well, I suppose we ought to see what else he left us," McCoy grumbled, resigning himself to the situation. He began rifling through the contents of the container once again.

In addition to what Spock had already found McCoy produced a fully stocked medikit along with extra uniforms and jackets. "What, no bug repellent?" he commented dryly, working a clean tunic over his head and closing the fastener at the neck.

"Doctor, surely you must realize it would be highly unlikely that any substance we have aboard the _Enterprise _to deter insects would be effective on this species, for a number of reasons," Spock pointed out.

"Oh for Christ's sake, it was a _joke_, Spock. Get a sense of humor, will you? McCoy rolled his eyes. "Oh wait, I forgot, you did manage to find one down in the tunnels." His irritation with the literal-minded Vulcan flared yet again.

"I beg your pardon?" Spock was genuinely confused.

"Forget it," McCoy quipped, glowering at Spock.

"I suggest we leave a message for the Captain on one of the tricorders, explaining our predicament, and then seek shelter elsewhere," Spock said, attempting to change the subject. "It will be dusk in two point eight hours, and we can logically expect a visit from our arthropod hosts. I would advise we use that time to find a secure place in which to spend the night."

"Why can't we just stay here until the _Enterprise_ comes back? Can't you just use that Vulcan mumbo-jumbo like you did in the caves and convince them to go somewhere else?"

"Influencing one individual is not difficult, but as their numbers increase, their mental energy becomes cumulative. It would simply not be possible for me to direct a large aggregation of them at once. Therefore, we must seek refuge elsewhere," Spock explained. "Do you require a pain injection at this time?" His eyes drifted from the medikit the doctor had secured to his waist to McCoy's injured wrist.

"It's okay for now, Spock, I can manage." The doctor had succeeded in regaining some measure of composure. "It's not like it's an open fracture or anything, but I'd at least like to clean and put a proper dressing on your wound before we set off. My wrist can certainly wait until we get to wherever we're going for the night," McCoy replied, favoring Spock with a look that told him he hadn't forgotten about the Vulcan's injury. Spock opened his mouth to protest, but McCoy cut him off before the words left his lips. "I know we have to get as far away from here as possible before dark, but it's only gonna take a few minutes for me to treat your back. It's a few minutes well spent in order to prevent a more serious infection down the road," he argued heatedly.

Seeing that the doctor would brook no argument, Spock began untying the makeshift bandages and stripped off his shirts, offering his back without comment. Removal of the wraps caused the newly-formed clots to be dislodged, the wound seeping again. He felt the sting of a hypo against his arm, and the level of discomfort dropped considerably. The deep gash was gently cleaned, McCoy using a protoplaser to close the cut and then applying a layer of plastiskin, all the while muttering quietly to himself under his breath. The hypo was pressed to his arm a second time, and the doctor cleared his throat.

"Okay, Spock, all finished," he said, handing the Vulcan a clean black tee shirt and uniform top. "You've got a painkiller and antibiotics on board, and before you complain," McCoy added, holding up a hand to stay the Vulcan's reproof, Spocks lips already parted, ready to lambaste the doctor, "I made sure they're ones your metabolism can tolerate." Spock swallowed his comment, regarding McCoy silently. "Just be careful, that new skin will be sensitive for the next day or so and won't stand up to any significant strain. Now we can go," he finished, starting to gather supplies from the crate.

"Allow me to administer a pain injection for you at least, Doctor," Spock said, once again eyeing McCoy's swollen limb.

"I'd prefer not to. If I don't feel the pain, I'm more likely to overuse my hand and cause further damage. You said it'd be dark in a few hours. It'll be all right until then," McCoy explained.

"Very well, Doctor. A most logical and persuasive argument."

"Why thank you, Mr. Spock. I'm glad that, for once, you can see things my way." McCoy's eyes twinkled, and he cast an impish look at his companion before turning back to the crate, a self-satisfied smirk settling over his features.

Spock began recording a message for the captain, detailing the events of their disappearance and capture, and supplying information as to the fate of the survey team and their adversaries. When he was done, the Vulcan placed the tricorder back in the bin, shouldering the remaining supplies McCoy had placed in one of two field packs retrieved from the scientists' stores. He adjusted his burden carefully, mindful of the wound on his back, and the two set off into the thick foliage.

***

"Scott tae bridge."

"Kirk here. Report, Mr. Scott."

Scott and a team of engineers had beamed over to the _Huron_ half an hour ago. During that time, transfer of the _Huron's _passengers to the _Enterprise_ had already begun. There were no injured to speak of, but the transport's occupants were tired, cold and hungry and the quartermaster's staff was already seeing to their needs. The hangar deck was in the process of being converted to temporary quarters to house the hundred odd people who would eventually be beamed over. The journey to Starbase Six would take an additional two days.

"It's nae good, Captain. The baffle plates are shot, and her starboard nacelle is damaged. Once they lost power and she started to drift, they took a few serious hits from space debris. Shielding on these vessels is minimal anyway, just what they need to keep from being disabled or destroyed by the cast-offs from comets, asteroids and other space junk, and with the majority of her battery power diverted to life support, they were even less effective."

"Can she be repaired? At least enough so she can make the trip to Starbase Six under her own power?"

"Not by me. Our spare baffles simply won't fit."

"Mr. Scott, I find it hard to believe that you can't make them fit." Reproachfully.

"It's just not possible, sir. The shielding on her plating is configured differently from ours, and it would take longer than the life support can hold out here to rig them up. Her nacelle is another matter altogether. Even if we got the baffle plates jury-rigged, she'd still only be able to manage impulse power without both functioning."

"That's not good enough, Scotty." His voice was low, soft, dangerous.

"I'm sorry sir, but I can't repair her nacelle hanging here in space," he remarked coolly, an edge of exasperation creeping into his tone. He quelled it with difficulty. "Even if we did have the right parts, which we don't, or if I could rig something up, which I can't, the repairs would take at least four solar days. We'd save more time by proceeding at top speed to Starbase Six, dropping off the _Huron's_ passengers and crew, and then making a beeline for Beta Arcida IV."

"Recommendation?" Kirk snapped, his irritation and frustration increasing with every unfavorable response.

"She's salvageable given the right parts. I'd suggest towing her back to Starbase Six."

"Why can't we leave her here? We can activate her EPIRB*," Kirk prodded. He dragged a hand across his face, pinching the bridge of his nose. This was rapidly becoming an unsatisfactory situation.

"Aye, we could, but she's adrift in commercial shipping lanes. Even with the emergency beacon sounding, she still might pose a threat to other ships if they aren't actively listening for her. Not tae mention the additional damage she'd be subject to without adequate shielding. It'd be best tae just take her with us," Scott reasoned.

"Surely her thrusters are working, or we could tow her out of the shipping lanes and her company's salvage team could pick her up at their convenience," Kirk argued.

"Aye. That they are and we certainly could. But she's just as likely as not to drift back into them again. Or she could be taken by pirates before the salvage vessel is able to collect her," Scott countered.

"We're not responsible for civilian property, Mr. Scott, just civilian lives." Kirk's voice had risen, and he was drawing quizzical looks from a number of the bridge crew.

Damn! Having to tow the civilian vessel would add another day to their journey. It couldn't be helped, though. Much as he might not like it, his duty was to the passengers and crew of the _Huron _first, and his own men second. And, much as he hated to admit it, Scotty was right. They couldn't just leave her there to pose a hazard to other ships in the area. _Hold on Bones, Spock – I'll be there as soon as humanly possible, I promise,_ he vowed silently.

"Understood, Mr. Scott, he intoned a little more calmly. "Secure things there and get your team back aboard," he conceded unwillingly. "Mr. Sulu, have tractor beams ready. We'll depart for Starbase Six with the _Huron _in tow as soon as all her passengers and crew have been transferred to the _Enterprise. _And Scotty…thanks for trying," he added softly.

"I'm sorry I didn't have better news for ye, sir. Scott out."

***

As twilight settled over this portion of the planet, casting long shadows over their surroundings, McCoy found himself unconsciously peering into every dark corner, ears straining to catch the tell-tale scrape of the insects' bony legs over the ground, a sure sign they were once again being pursued. He shivered slightly, making a conscious effort to steer his mind away from these disturbing thoughts. His stomach chose that moment to protest loudly, and he realized it had been almost twenty-four hours since he'd eaten last. So much for his down-home meal. Tired, sore, frustrated and hungry, his focus turned inward, he almost bumped smack into Spock, who had halted at the base of a cliff face, which extended some twenty meters above them. The Vulcan settled his load easily to the ground and began sweeping their current location with his tricorder.

"We should stop here for the night," he informed McCoy. "Scans indicate there are no openings to the underground cave system in the immediate vicinity, and the cliff face at our backs will provide us with a defensible position, should the creatures decide to attack."

"Works for me, Spock," McCoy sighed, dropping his load as well.

"First things first, Doctor. I shall attend to your wrist."

"Bullshit! It's almost dark and we need to gather in a load of wood for the night," McCoy snapped, hunger and the pain finally catching up with him.

"I can assure you, Doctor, my night vision is considerably more acute than yours. I can address your injury and then gather wood."

"You said odds were those things'd be out prowling around at night. And you said their hearing is excellent. Wouldn't it make more sense for us to gather supplies now, before it's fully dark? Less chance of them finding us," McCoy argued.

To prove his point, McCoy walked away, bending to gather what sticks and logs he could carry, resting them in the crook of his left arm, mindful of the damaged joint. Spock permitted himself a small sigh. The light was fading fast. It would be illogical to waste valuable time arguing with McCoy. "Very well, Doctor. We should gather as much inflammable material as possible before the sun fully sets."

***

Scans had shown that the doctor's ulna, not his wrist, was broken, close to the distal end of the bone. Lacking the proper equipment to repair the break, Spock had improvised a splint from a piece of duraplast tubing scavenged from the scientists' camp before they left. The piece was about 30 centimeters long and roughly 10 centimeters in diameter, flexible, yet firm. Using a laser scalpel from the doctor's medikit, he split the tube lengthwise. He would now be able to slip McCoy's arm in through the breach, wrapping the tube snugly around the doctor's limb from wrist to mid-forearm, securing it in place with strips torn from one of their spare uniforms. It would serve as a semi-rigid cast until they returned to the ship. He administered a painkiller and anti-inflammatory, and went about the task of setting McCoy's arm.

They now had a roaring fire going, and worked in relative quiet, McCoy heating up some of the rations Jim had left for them while Spock pitched the tent.

"It's ready, come and eat, Spock, and don't give me any of that nonsense about Vulcans not needing as much food as us poor, weak humans. It's gonna be a rough week, and since we aren't sure if or when the creepy-crawlies may grant us the opportunity to do so again, you'd better take advantage of the time we have now and eat something," McCoy groused.

Spock complied without comment, dutifully sitting beside the doctor and accepting his meal pouch. The only sounds disturbing the night were the snapping and crackling of the fire, and the incessant chirping of the much smaller variety of nocturnal insects.

McCoy tucked into his food hungrily, making short work of his meatloaf and scalloped potatoes. It wasn't chicken fried steak, but it would have to do. Setting his empty meal pouch aside, he sighed softly.

"If it weren't for the giant bugs I know are out there, I'd consider this to be kinda nice. It's quiet and restful, and it's a welcome change to be breathing non-recirculated air." McCoy leaned back against the cliff face, resting his splinted limb on his lap. "Thanks for wrapping my arm, Spock. That was good thinking getting that piece of tubing. It works very well as a temporary brace. You did a nice job," the doctor said sincerely.

Spock accepted the unexpected praise graciously, nodding his head slightly in recognition, all the while carefully scanning the area with his tricorder. "See anything?" McCoy asked uneasily, his eyes once again roaming the darkness.

"There is no evidence of the creatures at present, but since the sun set only recently, it still may be a while yet before they venture out. And depending on their level of intelligence, they may only attempt to procure us at the scientists' camp. Finding it abandoned, there is always the possibility they will give up the chase. However, I would suggest getting some rest, Doctor. It will not be safe for both of us to be asleep at the same time, so I will take the first watch," Spock stated evenly, affixing one of the phasers to his hip. "It may prove to be a difficult night, so I would advise you to take advantage of this opportunity to rest," he said skillfully, using the doctor's previous argument against him.

"Fair enough, Spock," McCoy acquiesced, deciding for once to accept the Vulcan's offer without a quarrel. "Wake me in four hours."

"Affirmative, Doctor."

*MRE – meals ready to eat

*EPIRB – Emergency Position Indicating Radio Beacon


	8. Chapter Seven

**Chapter Seven**

"Admiral, I still have men missing on the planet's surface, as well as the scientists we were sent there to investigate. Surely there is another vessel available that can deliver these vaccines to Sirius III," Kirk ground out, hands balled into fists at his sides, jaw twitching, trying to keep his anger in check.

They had ferried the _Huron, _along with her passengers and crew to Starbase Six, and were preparing to depart, when the call came in.

Komack favored Kirk with a disapproving stare, resting his elbows on the desk between them, fingers interlocked. The _Defiant_ was en route even now to pick up the essential medication, but she was still a good seventeen hours away from the base. He could easily justify his decision to press the _Enterprise_ into service instead with the higher ups, considering the urgency with which the supplies were needed. He had taken great pleasure in calling the captain to his office. It had been an unexpected surprise to find the man and his ship here. He might never have an opportunity like this again, and Kirk owed him. Now it was time to collect. "Wouldn't have anything to do with the fact that it's your Vulcan friend who's missing, would it?" the admiral commented smugly, delighting in watching Kirk squirm uncomfortably.

It was thanks to Kirk and his Vulcan First Officer that the admiral now found himself head of 'Tartarus,' as Starbase Six was affectionately called by the Starfleet brass. It was quite a step down from his last position in Sector Nine. How was he supposed to have known Spock would have died if Kirk hadn't taken him to Vulcan? Somehow, the captain had neglected to pass on that little snippet of information. And T'Pau was Kirk's First's paternal grandmother? Heads had rolled on his staff for failing to ferret out that well-hidden but extremely important fact. The Vulcan matriarch's displeasure had been evident, and had been directed squarely at Komack. The powers that be, not wanting to upset the Vulcan contingent, had stationed him here. It was where admirals went to die, at least in terms of their careers. The assignment represented a black stain on his record from which he'd be unlikely to recover.

"I resent that implication, sir. I would try to rescue any of my crewmembers who were unaccounted for, from my First right on down to the greenest Seaman Recruit."

"There's no concrete evidence they're still alive."

"And there's none that they're dead, either," Kirk countered angrily. "But the longer we delay, the worse their chances become. If you won't send us, then perhaps there is another ship in the area that could rescue them? Sir," Kirk finished stiffly, his tone shifting between exasperation and frustration.

"There's no other ship in the vicinity of Beta Arcida IV that would be able to reach it before the _Enterprise_ even if you do take the time to transport the vaccines. They have to be delivered to Sirius III within forty-eight hours in order to prevent a planet-wide pandemic. So you will deliver them."

It was not a question.

***

Day four of their ordeal on Beta Arcida IV dawned bright and clear, the songbirds, so abundant on the planet, heralding its arrival. Spock awaited it eagerly, facing into the rising sun, the warmth helping to banish the chill that had settled over him during the night despite the campfire and survival jacket Jim had included with their supplies.

Spock had let the doctor sleep through his watch. They had decided the first night it was simply too dangerous for the two of them to be asleep at the same time. Spock knew the daily grind of having to pack up and move camp, combined with the ache of the broken arm was starting to weigh heavily on McCoy, not that he ever heard the man complain. McCoy stoically soldiered on.

To Spock, it was quite perplexing that a man who could and very often did express his discontent most vociferously with regard to almost any topic under the sun, did not see fit to grumble about his certain discomfort or their current predicament. While they were lost in the underground tunnel system, he had never once heard McCoy gripe about being cold or hungry, tired or in pain. Spock's estimation of the doctor increased another notch. He had always had a profound respect for the doctor's skill as a healer – not that he'd ever admit it – and that had deepened considerably when McCoy performed a complicated open heart procedure on Spock's father, under extremely adverse conditions, thereby saving the man's life. It was thanks to his quick thinking as well that Spock had not inadvertently killed his captain on Vulcan last year. Despite his sincere and intense appreciation for saving the captain's life, he found himself unable to adequately express his gratitude to the gruff surgeon. Somehow, even if he were able to find the proper way to communicate it, he was unsure as to whether or not the doctor would accept it.

Of all the humans he dealt with on the ship on a daily basis, his relationship with the irascible medic was by far the most baffling. At times, the two made an excellent team and were able to work together admirably, like they had when finding a way to destroy the Denevan parasites, but more often than not, they were at each others' throats, or more accurately, McCoy was at his throat, like they had been on Taurus II, or in their holding cell after having survived the Roman Gladiatorial Games. And yet, in spite of that, he believed the doctor valued their relationship. Yes, despite the fact that he was loath to admit it, even to himself, he did consider McCoy to be a friend and was of the opinion that the sentiment was returned in kind. However, the man was an enigma to him, to be sure.

Spock was uncharacteristically startled when the object of his musings stumbled out of the tent, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

"Spock, what time is it? You were supposed to wake me up to take the last watch," McCoy grumbled sleepily.

"I was not fatigued, and since Vulcans require less sleep than humans, it seemed only logical to allow your rest to continue undisturbed." Spock was still huddled next to their meager heat source, knees drawn up to his chest, arms wrapped tightly around them.

"Thanks, Spock. I was pretty tired. I feel much more refreshed now." The doctor had moved to sit beside the Vulcan in front of the remnants of their small campfire. "Do I smell coffee?"

"Indeed. I had anticipated that you would soon arise and prepared a cup for you," the Vulcan said, unfolding himself to retrieve the steaming mug, holding it out to his companion.

"I don't care what they say about you, Spock, you're all right in my book," McCoy remarked with a wry grin, accepting the warm drink, saluting the Vulcan with his mug and taking a healthy swallow of the bitter liquid.

Spock shot him a questioning look but chose not to respond, instead sipping his tea as well, and the two drifted off into a companionable silence, the twittering of the native fowl the only sound disturbing the stillness of the morning.

"You hungry, Spock? I could eat a horse. If you want, I can rustle us up some breakfast." McCoy rose, coffee in hand, to rummage through their supplies.

"As long as equine is not on the menu, that would be agreeable," Spock replied evenly, his voice toneless and flat, not a trace of emotion on his face.

McCoy shot him a surprised look. _Humor_? _Again_? Usually he only joked around with Jim, and that tended to be in a most reserved manner. Perhaps there was hope for the Vulcan after all. He turned back to their rations. "Nope, looks like oatmeal for you and a ham and cheese omelet for me," McCoy answered, pulling out two pouches and resting them on a flat rock they had braced over the small fire.

"I shall retrieve water while they are heating, and procure some of the local edible fruit," Spock said, rising as well, heading for the small stream located about fifty meters from their campsite.

"That'd be great, Spock. These should be ready in about ten minutes."

***

"Y'know Spock," McCoy said around a mouthful of loquana fruit, the sticky, purple juice dribbling down his chin, "you're pretty good at this camping stuff. I find that a little hard to believe. After all, I've met your father, and Ambassador Sarek didn't exactly strike me as the outdoorsy type."

"That is undeniably true." Spock swallowed his bite of oatmeal, washing it down with a sip of tea. "Sarek and I did not routinely take 'camping trips,' however I have had some personal experience with the practice."

"Don't tell me there's a Vulcan equivalent to Terran Boy Scouts?" McCoy asked.

"Vulcan society does not have a similar institution."

Waiting a few moments for clarification that was obviously not forthcoming, McCoy continued. "So how did you acquire this 'personal experience'? Did you and your friends go camping or something?" he prodded.

"Not precisely, no," Spock said evasively.

"Look Spock, I'm not trying to pry or anything," the doctor's amiable frame of mind was rapidly disappearing, "but we're gonna be stuck here for at least another two days, with only each other for company, roaming the countryside by day and trying to avoid being captured by giant ants at night. Not exactly my idea of a relaxing shore leave. I just thought it might be nice to use some of the brief respites of peace and quiet we do have as a chance for us to get to know each other a little better, but if camping rituals on your homeworld are some deep, dark Vulcan secret, then by all means, please refrain from telling me." He looked expectantly at the Vulcan, crossing his arms, waiting for the inevitable response.

Spock was silent for several long moments, looking as if he was waging an inner battle, deciding just how much information he wanted to share with this man. After a while, he began to speak softly. "Friendship means something else entirely to Vulcans than it does to humans. There are very few 'friendships' on my planet, in the human sense of the word."

"So, in other words," McCoy translated, "you didn't go camping with friends. So who did you go with?"

"They were primarily solo ventures," Spock remarked simply.

"You went by yourself?" McCoy's tone was one of mild shock. "Where's the fun in that?"

"The excursions were not meant to be 'fun,' but rather a means of escape."

"From what?" McCoy was becoming more and more confused the longer this conversation went on.

Spock looked down at that, his gaze focused on his hands, clasped loosely in his lap, an uncomfortable silence falling between them. The doctor, for once, reigned in his impatience and waited quietly for Spock to continue.

"As you might imagine, growing up as a hybrid on my home planet presented certain…challenges," Spock began.

"Such as?" McCoy asked gently.

"Acceptance was the major hurdle. Vulcan society, for all its talk of IDIC, can be rather, shall we say, closed-minded about some things."

"Gee, I hadn't really thought about that before," McCoy admitted frankly. "You seem so…Vulcan to us, I just expected that other Vulcans thought that way about you as well."

"Unfortunately, that was not always the case. While most adults and the majority of my instructors at school treated me much as they did other Vulcan children, there were those, young and old alike, who would have liked nothing better than to goad me into an emotional response." He cocked a knowing eyebrow at McCoy and the doctor swallowed convulsively.

It was a pattern of behavior the doctor understood only too well. Sometimes it seemed McCoy's sole purpose in life was to try to force Spock into some kind of emotional display, the doctor often becoming angry and frustrated when he failed to do so.

"These solitary excursions represented a chance to remove myself from these situations, even if only for a short time," Spock continued quietly.

McCoy pondered that statement. People were so callous and insensitive on Spock's home planet that he felt the need to run away to get some peace. In addition, he was able to infer based on that explanation that the Vulcan didn't consider his home a sanctuary, either, and tried to imagine how it must have been growing up in Spock's unique family unit. He had met the man's parents and they were each a creditable representative of their race. In trying to please one, Spock was sure to have displeased the other. McCoy felt an odd surge of protectiveness stir in him, finally being able to appreciate the difficulty that must have been Spock's childhood. It went a long way to clarifying the behavior of the man he had come to know.

"I had no idea. I'm sorry, Spock," he said, genuinely moved.

Spock immediately changed the subject. "You seem to possess considerable skill as well, Doctor. Might I inquire as to how you attained it?"

"Well, my daddy was the outdoorsy type," McCoy began, following Spock's cue. "He used to take me and my cousins Richie and Jake camping and fishing along the Chatahoochee River in Georgia." He paused, a wistful grin spreading over his face. "Have you ever tasted native brook trout, Spock?" the doctor asked. Spock shuddered slightly, and McCoy instantly realized his mistake. "Sorry," he said apologetically, "of course you haven't. But for us carnivores, it's some of the sweetest, tastiest fish you'll ever have. There's nothing like it." McCoy got a faraway look in his eyes, lost in the pleasant memories of childhood. "And we used to swim, and hunt crawfish during the day, and make mountain pies for dinner to go with the fish, and s'mores for dessert…" He could see he'd lost Spock, a quizzical frown settling between the Vulcan's brows. "Never mind, it's not important," he said. "The best thing about it was the time we spent together as a family, talking and joking with one another…kinda like you and I are doing right now, Spock," he said, his eyes alight with warmth and unmistakable affection.

The Vulcan cleared his throat uncomfortably. "Yes, I concur. This has been a most illuminating discussion. Unfortunately, we should begin preparations to break camp and move on. Since the days are considerably shorter here, we need to allow sufficient time to relocate elsewhere and gather the necessary supplies before nightfall."

"That's fine, but before we go, I'd like to examine your back. Make sure the wound is healing properly," he said, transitioning smoothly to doctor mode.

Used to this daily ritual by now, Spock didn't even attempt to protest, but stripped off his jacket, lifting his tunic and black undershirt without comment, allowing the doctor access to his back.

"It's healing nicely," McCoy commented, probing the wound gently with skilled fingers, "no swelling or inflammation present, although there will be some scarring. I can take care of that for you when we get back to the ship," he said affably. "Any pain or tenderness?"

"None to speak of," Spock answered honestly. It is not causing me any undue distress." Spock tugged his shirts back into place. "And what is the status of your arm, Doctor?"

"It's manageable. Not as strong as if I'd been able to use a boneknitter on it, but it's not sore anymore and I can use it somewhat."

Spock doubted the veracity of that statement, but chose to say nothing. The men lapsed into silence again, enjoying the calm of the morning, their arthropod antagonists a dim memory at the moment. After ten minutes, Spock rose to his feet and began dismantling the tent. McCoy followed suit, dousing their small campfire with water and covering the ashes with dirt. Once everything was loaded into the packs, the two set off in search of a new home for the night.

***

As McCoy assumed the watch later that night, he mulled over his discussion with Spock from earlier. He was a good enough psychologist to be able to gain valuable insight into his companion based on what the Vulcan _hadn't_ said. However, it was the comment about friends that he found to be the most revealing. So, Spock didn't have any what he would consider to be friends on Vulcan. If he did, it would have been they, and not he and Jim, who stood with Spock at his wedding. At the time, he thought he had understood the importance of the Vulcan's declaration of friendship, even though it had been made when Spock could hardly have been considered to be himself, but their conversation of today brought home to him just how significant that was. Having a much better grasp on things now, he vowed to try and be a better friend to Spock in the future. If he and Jim were all the Vulcan had, he would do his best to see that that trust was not misplaced.


	9. Chapter Eight

**Chapter Eight**

Having dropped off the supplies as ordered, the _Enterprise_ was now once again en route to Beta Arcida IV. Kirk had been prowling the confines of the bridge like a caged Centaurian Ceil Cat, snapping at his officers for the most minor infraction, and the atmosphere was significantly subdued, no one wanting to incur the Captain's wrath. He was definitely operating on a shorter fuse than usual.

His pacing having proven unproductive, he plopped himself in the command chair, jabbing a finger at the intercom switch.

"Engineering, Scott here," came the tinny response.

"_Scotty…_," he said plaintively, a multitude of meanings conveyed in that single word.

"Aye, sir," the intercom crackled, "I'll see what the lads and I can do to coax a wee bit more speed out of her."

Kirk closed his eyes briefly. "Thank you, Mr. Scott. Kirk out." He slowly let out the breath he hadn't been aware he'd been holding.

***

They were currently located on a narrow bluff, interspersed with several deciduous trees, a wide variety of low scrub, and a rocky outcropping at their backs which ended in a sheer drop of some thirty meters. The height afforded them a good view of the surrounding sparsely wooded area. There was a small, enclosed concavity between the jumble of large stone slabs which could provide minimal protection should they need it. The niche was about three meters deep and two meters wide, and was not connected to the underground tunnel system, allowing them a limited, human-sized bolt hole within the boulder field. The opening was not wide enough to admit any of the arthropods, but they'd surely be able to reach inside if they got close enough.

Before the sun had set, the two _Enterprise _crewmen had managed to gather an impressive array of firewood which they placed in a semi-circle in front of their rocky stronghold. On the second night, McCoy had questioned Spock about the purpose of the unusual arrangement of combustible material, a constant fixture at every camp they had made since then.

"The insects are nocturnal, Doctor, sensitive to light, and presumably to extreme heat since the ambient temperature in the caves is considerably lower than that on the surface during daylight hours," Spock explained patiently. "If need be, we can ignite the ring of brush, thereby keeping the animals at bay for a time without having to drain our phasers to do so."

So far, they hadn't had to use that particular line of defense.

This had been their modus operandi for the entire time they had been here – moving by day, holing up in a defensible position by night. As of yet, the insects had not disturbed them during the periods of darkness, but tricorder scans had indicated they were on the move at those times, twice coming within half a kilometer of their location.

As the days progressed, the doctor began to eagerly anticipate their imminent rescue, but when a week came and went without contact from the _Enterprise_, McCoy started to get discouraged. As they were eating dinner around their small campfire on the eighth night, he couldn't help but voice his concerns.

"What if something's happened to the ship, Spock?" he blurted out suddenly.

Spock considered that briefly before replying. "It is highly unlikely. There is a greater probability that the rescue mission took longer than the captain anticipated."

"It's not like Jim to miscalculate, though," McCoy said, his brow creased in mild consternation, the flickering light from the fire causing his features to stand out in stark relief.

"It may have been unavoidable, perhaps being detained by factors beyond his control."

"Such as?"

"It is useless to speculate, since we were not provided with the details of the mission, but a delay of several days would certainly be within the normal parameters for rescue operations."

McCoy lifted a spoonful of his dinner to his lips, chewing reflexively, not really tasting his food, mulling over what Spock had said. He washed it down with a large sip of coffee before continuing carefully.

"But what if she really is gone, Spock, and we're stuck here? Depending on how far things got, no one may even be aware that we're here, or that we survived. We can't go on like this indefinitely, moving on a daily basis to avoid being captured. Whaddya suppose they want with us, anyway? We haven't been near the caverns in over a week. How could they possibly view us as a threat?"

Spock set his meal pouch aside, eyeing his companion carefully. "I do not believe we were ever considered to be a threat, Doctor."

"Then why? What was the purpose of holding us prisoner, and then chasing us when we escaped?" McCoy asked, truly perplexed.

"Sustenance, I believe."

McCoy's eyes took on a horrified look. "You mean they wanted to _eat_ us?" Spock saw a shudder run through the doctor that had nothing to do with the chill in the night air. His gaze narrowed menacingly. "What do you know that you're not telling me, Spock?" he demanded, the accusation harsh even to his own ears.

"I did not mention it before, because I could find no logical purpose in doing so."

"Mention what?" McCoy snapped, his eyes flashing in the firelight.

A small sigh escaped Spock's lips and he leaned back wearily, resting himself against the trunk of a tree.

"Do you recall when I found the pack in the pit?" he asked.

"Yes. Go on," McCoy ground out.

"Well, in addition, I also found evidence of its owner."

"What kind of evidence?" McCoy was on red alert now.

Spock looked away uncomfortably, the tension between them mounting, becoming almost palpable, the doctor's barely-concealed anger licking at him like the flames of the fire. After a few moments, McCoy cleared his throat, obviously waiting for an answer. The Vulcan could feel, more than see, the angry eyes glued to him.

"I also found an item of footwear…and a pool of congealed blood." Spock turned back to the doctor and met his irate gaze steadily. "It is my belief that we were being held until the 'queen' of the hive required her next meal."

"What?!" McCoy was indignant. "Why didn't you tell me this sooner?"

"For what purpose, Doctor? There were no human life form readings in the network of caves and tunnels. The team was already gone. How would this information have been of any use to you?"

"Why the queen?" McCoy asked, pointedly ignoring Spock's question.

"Because the creatures who captured us had ample opportunity to ingest us, if that had been their intention. The fact that we were placed in a holding facility indicates we were intended for someone other than the average drone."

McCoy's gaze went from cold to positively frosty. "So you believe the hive queen _ate _the researchers, and you didn't see the point in telling me this?" His query was met with stubborn silence. "Good God man, they were people, even if we didn't know them! How can you be so blasted callous about this? Don't their deaths mean anything to you?"

"Quite the contrary. Life is sacred to Vulcans. This is why all members of my species are vegetarians." He struggled, attempting to use Terran words to explain the wholly Vulcan concept. "When someone dies, we do not grieve in the human sense of the word. We are aware that all things must end, and if the individual in question had a long and productive life, we regret the loss, yet are able to celebrate that person's contributions and accomplishments. In this instance, Vulcans accept the inevitable, while recognizing and appreciating the significance of their time among those who knew them. If their passing was a choice, sacrificing their lives for the greater good, we can also understand and respect the value in that. 'The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few, or the one.'

"And yet, the members of the team did neither. For them to have forfeited their lives in such a meaningless manner makes their deaths all the more senseless. When something of this nature occurs, we do grieve for a life unfulfilled; a life wasted in essence. One that did not reach its full potential. However, in the case of the scientists, dwelling on it would not have brought them back. They had already died, and there was nothing you or I could have done to change that fact. Kaiidth," he muttered softly under his breath.

"What did you say?" McCoy asked sharply, his eyes locking with the Vulcan's, fixing him with a baleful stare.

"Kaiidth. It is a Vulcan word meaning 'what is, is.'"

"You cold-blooded bastard!" McCoy spat. He jumped to his feet, tossing the remnants of his dinner to the ground. "And I suppose if they eat me you don't think Jim might need that information, huh? There's nothing to be done to change it, so what the hell, it's not really important." McCoy was breathing heavily now, nostrils flaring, shaking slightly, his ire and outrage quite apparent.

"Please Doctor, you are being irrational. I—"

"The hell I am!"

Suddenly, they became aware of a faint scuttling sound. Spock rose swiftly to his feet, snatching his tricorder from where it lay at his side and began scanning the area. "There are seventeen individuals headed in our direction. They will be here in twenty-one point six seconds. Please, Doctor, proceed up the tree behind you with all due haste. There will be insufficient time to light the fire." Spock ducked inside the tent, retrieving the two phasers. "Catch, Doctor," he instructed, tossing one to McCoy, who was halfway up the tree.

"You coming, Spock? You can't stay there!"

"I shall join you momentarily, Doctor," Spock replied in an attempt to mollify his companion, setting his phaser for a wide stun pattern.

"You can shoot just as well from up here as from down there, and there's much less chance of you being impaled," McCoy pointed out, his agitation with Spock's perceived heroics plainly evident, their argument of a few minutes ago quickly forgotten.

"If you fire from your position above, while I remain at ground level, we should be able to cover a much larger area."

McCoy scoffed, but admitted silently that it made a hell of a lot of sense. "All right, Spock, I've got your back," he assured the Vulcan.

"I am counting on it, Doctor," came the immediate response.

McCoy couldn't help the lump that sprang to his throat, or the sudden moisture that threatened to spill from his eyes. They might die here. Hell, he couldn't quote the odds but he didn't have to be Spock to know it was a long shot that they'd walk out of here, and yet, in spite of their constant sniping and bickering, there was genuine affection at the root of it all, much as they attempted to deny it.

Jim and Spock relied on each other without question in tense situations, practically anticipating each other's moves with a sixth sense. To know that Spock trusted him to do the same meant more to him than the doctor cared to acknowledge. Spock might irritate the hell out of him, drive him to distraction at times, but he truly liked and respected the man, much as he hated to admit it.

His thoughts were interrupted by the whine of Spock's phaser, and four of the creatures were cut down about six meters from the Vulcan. Scanning the terrain in front of them, McCoy detected another eight of the bugs cresting the hill to their right, and his beam lanced out, joining Spock's. Alerted by the sound of the phaser fire, the remaining five insects came into view, scrambling over their fallen comrades, reaching for Spock. McCoy dropped two at the Vulcan's feet, while Spock stunned the other three several meters from him.

"Get your skinny ass up a tree you stubborn, pig-headed Vulcan, before their equivalent of the invertebrate cavalry arrives," McCoy shouted, his eyes still roaming the thinly wooded landscape for more of the giant bugs.

But Spock was consulting his tricorder. "There are no other individuals in the area at present. I suggest we retreat to the aggregation of boulders and ignite the brush pile."

McCoy didn't have to be told twice. He scrambled down the tree, skinning the inside of his thighs in the process. Snatching his medikit from the tent, he swiftly crossed the distance to their unconventional skirmish line, pausing by their campfire to grab a lighted branch, taking it with him. Stepping inside the protective ring, he rubbed his abused legs absently.

Spock was right behind him, tricorder in hand, scanning their surroundings. "Another group of twenty-five individuals is currently located half a kilometer to the south. If they were in mental contact with the group we stunned, they should be here in eight point three minutes." As if to confirm this hypothesis, his tricorder showed the creatures start to move purposefully toward their location.

"I would suggest we resort to our improvised line of defense," Spock said calmly, indicating the half-circle of inflammable material they had stockpiled.

McCoy did as instructed, lighting several areas. Soon the entire crescent-moon shaped pile was ablaze. The two men retreated to the opening in the rocks and seated themselves in front of it, awaiting their attackers, phasers in hand.

The wait was a short one.

As the first of the aliens' heads crested the slope, Spock fired, dropping it in its tracks.

"Why'd you do that, Spock?" McCoy asked. "I thought the fire was supposed to deter them."

"That is its intended function, Doctor. However, it will only burn for a finite amount of time, and will not last until dawn. If we can dissuade them from approaching at all, that would be the best course of action at present."

"I see," McCoy said grimly, scanning the darkness for signs of stragglers.

***

Over the course of the next hour, the opposition continued to mount, their adversaries now numbering about sixty. While the blaze was burning intensely, the insects had been content to wait at the outskirts of the makeshift campsite, but as the flames dwindled, they became bolder, advancing on the two men's position. Spock and McCoy continued to stun the animals that wandered too close, but just as soon as they were out of commission, others stepped forward to take their place. The phasers Jim had left for them were soon almost empty.

"I suggest we now retreat to the aperture in the rocks. It will at least provide some measure of protection. We should save what charge is left in our phasers to defend the opening."

"We're not gonna make it, are we?" McCoy stated matter-of-factly.

"It is highly unlikely," came the honest reply.

As they retreated into the confines of the small chamber, the bugs became brazen, approaching the dying ring of fire. Soon they were stationed along the entire perimeter, some pawing at the dwindling pile in an attempt to make a rift wide enough for them to pass through.

The two men phasered them sparingly, but there always seemed to be an insect available to fill the void.

"The worst thing is Jim will never know what happened to us. For that matter, we'll never know if the _Enterprise _is safe," McCoy remarked angrily, his frustration with the bugs plainly visible, his expression dour.

"As it seems improbable that we will survive, I would be remiss if I did not express my sincere gratitude for saving Jim's life on Vulcan. Had you not acted in such a swift and timely manner, the outcome would have been quite different." The words poured forth in a rush, tumbling over one another like snowballs in front of an avalanche. Spock regarded McCoy warily, unsure of what his response would be. He expected vitriol as he was accustomed to receiving from the crusty medic in intense, emotional situations, but the doctor's reply stunned him.

McCoy regarded him evenly for a few moments, and then, despite their dire situation, a bemused grin lit the doctor's craggy features. _Took you long enough,_ he thought silently, then added aloud, "you're very welcome, Spock. There's no way I was gonna lose either of you that day. When T'Pring chose the captain and then you pleaded so eloquently for Jim to not be allowed to participate, I really thought T'Pau would let him out of it. Had Stonn then been your opponent, I already had a plan in the works to protect you. But Jim just had to go and accept, without fully understanding what he was getting himself into. That tendency of his to rush in where angels fear to tread will surely be his downfall someday."

He paused, continuing with his original train of thought. "Once we then found out the true nature of the combat, I was already thinking about what I could do. I sure as hell wasn't gonna let that dried up old fig and/or the Vulcan ice princess take either one of you from me," McCoy declared emphatically.

Spock looked away, unable to meet the doctor's eyes, afraid of what his own were revealing. He glanced back once he felt he had managed to regain some measure of control.

"That 'dried up old fig' happens to be my grandmother," Spock reminded him.

"My condolences," came the terse reply. "Must've made for some interesting family gatherings during the holidays." His grin returned, full of mischief. "Still doesn't change the fact that she's a 'dried up old fig.' 'Kaiidth', right?" McCoy said, eyes dancing.

"It has been an honor and a privilege serving with you, Leonard."

McCoy blinked, his eyes burning a second time this night, completely taken aback by Spock's use of his given name. That was a luxury the Vulcan permitted himself only with Jim. Swallowing reflexively, he regarded the Vulcan openly. "The feeling is mutual, Spock. I may have given you a lotta grief over the last few years, but in case you hadn't noticed, I only grouse at people I like." No trace of humor now, McCoy's expression sincere and genuine. "You may have been able to push all my buttons, and I can't think of another being in the Universe, except maybe my ex-wife, who could get under my skin the way you can, but I can't imagine these last few years without you. I don't know how to explain it," he hesitated, searching for the proper words to convey the emotions pressing him at the moment, "but you, me, and Jim, we're a team. It's as if the Universe meant for us to find one another. In some strange, bizarre way, we need each other." His expression darkened suddenly, "and now Jim will be on his own, with no one to watch over him."

They lapsed into silence, each man grappling with the accuracy and significance of that statement.

All of a sudden, one of the bugs was at the opening to their refuge, probing tentatively into the narrow rift. Phasers empty, nowhere else to go, they pressed themselves against the back wall of the depression, but to no avail. McCoy watched in abject horror as a clawed arm reached for him, mere centimeters from his thigh, Spock lashing out at the bony appendage with a booted foot. _This is it, _he thought. _So ends my illustrious career as a Starfleet doctor…_

Suddenly a low hum filled the chamber, accompanied by a fleeting sense of disorientation. Relief and utter joy swept momentarily through the doctor, before oblivion took him. McCoy had never been so happy to be subject to the beam of the transporter in his entire life.


	10. Epilogue

A/N: And so it ends. Heartfelt thanks to all of you who stuck with me during this journey, and to everyone who reviewed, favorited or alerted this story.

But I'd be remiss if I didn't take this opportunity to express my sincere gratitude to Anna Amuse, who inspired me to try my hand at writing fanfiction, and has been with me every step of the way during 'Lost', offering encouragement, suggestions, and most of all, moral support and an unwavering belief in my ability. There are no words to adequately express what this has meant to me. Anna, you are truly a treasure, and I'd certainly be lost without you.

**Epilogue**

Kirk was waiting for them as they materialized on the transporter pad, Scotty himself at the controls, not leaving this up to a subordinate. Chekov had located them with the ship's sensors, and attempting to control his rising panic, had quickly informed his captain of the two senior officers' predicament.

"_They are in a narrow rift inside a small boulder field at the edge of a cliff, eighty-two bugs surrounding them and closing in fast, sair," Chekov said in a shaky voice, turning to face his commanding officer. All remaining eyes on the bridge snapped to their captain._

"_Chekov, inform the transporter room of their coordinates. Uhura, call sickbay and have a medical team standing by. Scotty, you're with me," Kirk said, already moving, collecting the engineer with a nod of his head, all but running for the turbolift._

Once they had materialized, McCoy's eyes swept the room: Jim he'd expected, and he noted idly that M'Benga and Nurse Chapel were there, too, Christine's gaze immediately drawn to the makeshift cast on his arm. _Ever the efficient nurse, _McCoy thought fondly. If it wouldn't have totally destroyed the mythos surrounding his pathological fear of the transporter, he would have gotten down on his hands and knees and kissed the platform. Never had he been so glad to have his atoms scrambled and reassembled elsewhere.

M'Benga and Chapel had started toward them, but Kirk got there first, his expression a jumbled mixture of joy, relief, satisfaction and inexplicably, anger. _Now what the hell is that all about? _ McCoy wondered, baffled by the image. He looked around for Spock, to reassure himself that the Vulcan had been beamed aboard with him and was still in one piece. He breathed a sigh of relief, catching sight of the lean, lanky frame on the pad next to his. Glancing back at Kirk, he watched as the captain's face was transformed by a wide grin. "Welcome home, gentlemen."

***

The three of them were now seated around the desk in Kirk's quarters, a snifter of brandy in the captain's hand, a glass of bourbon situated on the table in front of the doctor. Spock had declined a drink from both of them, settling instead for a warm mug of Vulcan herbal tea.

It had been a whirlwind of activity since they returned; first a trip to sickbay to properly heal the doctor's broken ulna and address Spock's wound, and then a debriefing by subspace radio to inform command of their discovery and put a halt to preparations to open up the planet for settlement.

Kirk swirled his glass, the amber liquid cresting and falling against the sides like waves lapping against a jetty at low tide. He glanced up at his two companions, sitting opposite him.

"It is most unfortunate," Spock was saying, "the planet offered such great potential for colonization."

"Yeah, until the natives started eating the tourists," McCoy quipped. Kirk saw a shadow pass over his face, the doctor sipping his drink, eyes obviously focused inward on a vision only he could see. "What a waste, to die that way."

"What about the aliens, Spock?" Kirk turned to look at his Science Officer. "Any chance they're intelligent? That maybe we can work out some sort of agreement with them?"

"Trust me, Jim, there'd be nothing to work out, except maybe a feeding schedule. From what I saw, they were just mindless insects, on a huge scale," McCoy commented dryly.

"As I stated in my report to Starfleet Command, it is doubtful, Captain. There was no evidence of anything beyond a hive mentality, the queen directing the workers and drones below her," Spock reported succinctly.

"Yeah, directing them to get her her next meal," the doctor added darkly.

"Did you see the queen, Spock?" This from Kirk.

"Negative. We never came into direct contact with her."

"Thank the gods for that. We would have wound up as some late night humanoid snack." McCoy's flair for the dramatic was certainly in full swing tonight.

Spock ignored the comment, continuing, "she was presumably in a secure location well below the surface. If, in terms of evolutionary development, these insects are similar to other species on various Federation worlds, it is highly unlikely that she ever ventures out of the nest. The queen's primary duty is to oversee the day-to-day operation of the hive, and to produce offspring. In my limited mental contact with the drones, I was able to gain an impression of her thoughts."

"And?" Kirk prompted.

The doctor straightened in his chair, turning to fix the Vulcan with an accusatory look. "I'd like to hear that as well. Something else Spock 'forgot to mention' along the way," McCoy intoned grumpily.

"The doctor's previous point is a valid one. The drones appeared to be consumed with her protection, and procuring enough sustenance for her to enable her to reproduce. I received the distinct impression from them that she found the scientists particularly palatable, and wished to have more of this new food source available in her diet."

Kirk visibly paled at that. "Well, I guess there's no way we can hope to coexist with them."

"Perhaps not at this juncture," Spock continued, "but currently they are the dominant species on the planet. As we knew before, there is no evidence of an advanced civilization ever being present here. Perhaps this planet is still quite young on the evolutionary scale, and in a few thousand millennia, these beings will become sentient as we understand it. Who can say what the dominant species on Earth would have been, had the asteroid which impacted the Yucatan Peninsula sixty-five million years ago not caused the dinosaurs' untimely demise? They represented the pinnacle of evolution at that time, and it was primarily this calamity that effectively allowed mammals to gain the upper hand. Earth's population may have been much more similar to Gorns had that not occurred."

"Just as long as I'm not around to see it – I've had my fill of bugs. I'd even take Sulu's quasi-animate plants over them, thanks."

"Xenophobia, Doctor? Most unbecoming," Kirk teased.

"Easy for you to say, Jim, you didn't almost wind up as the main course."

They lapsed into a relaxed and comfortable silence. It was Kirk who finally broke it.

He had dropped his gaze to the glass cradled in his lap, his face dark and unreadable. "We would have been here two days ago, if it weren't for Komack." He paused, taking a deep draught of the fiery drink. "He had us deliver vaccines to Sirius III before we could return for you. Finagle's Law was in full swing, courtesy of my own, personal antagonist. It seems the man's had it in for me, ever since last year." He heard Spock shift uncomfortably in his seat, and looked up in time to see an unidentified expression flit over his First's features. "I was furious! That's twice I've almost lost you thanks to him!" this, directed at Spock. "And this time, it might have been both of you," he finished hotly, his gaze now encompassing the two of them, eyes flashing. "If we had arrived a few minutes later…"

_Well, that explains the anger I saw in the transporter room, _McCoy noted silently.

The Vulcan looked as if he wanted to melt into his seat. "I regret that I have become such a burdensome problem for you, Captain," he said, his reticence obvious, refusing to meet Kirk's eyes.

"That's not how I meant it, Spock," Kirk said sharply. "He's the one with the problem, not you."

"Well, in this instance, I'm just as much at fault as you are, Spock," McCoy conceded, trying to shoulder some of the blame. "At least you were in good company when you pissed the admiral off this time." McCoy's expression had softened considerably, his words and tone surprisingly gentle to Kirk's ears.

"You know, I swear the amount of braid on one's shoulder is inversely proportional to the amount of common sense one exhibits," McCoy said, turning to Kirk with a serious look, his countenance open, sincere, pleading. "Don't ever let them make you an admiral, Jim. Your common sense is questionable at times even now. It'll be bad for your health, not to mention your brain cells."

Kirk couldn't help but grin at that. "Why Bones, I didn't know you cared."

"Just see that it doesn't get around – I've got a reputation to uphold, after all," the doctor declared gruffly.

"Well, in any case, it's nice to have you back," Kirk remarked, "and if you two ever pull a stunt like that again…," he trailed off ominously.

"Yeah, because it was such a picnic for us," McCoy scoffed, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "We just had a blast, the best shore leave ever. I'd highly recommend it for psychotic thrill-seekers and masochists throughout the galaxy."

"I've instructed the quartermaster to embed transponders into all your uniform tunics, so we don't lose you again," Kirk said in mock seriousness.

"That would not be necessary, had Doctor McCoy been more attentive to his tricorder," Spock interjected. "I fail to understand why his instrument did not register the fissure beneath his feet."

McCoy choked on his sip of bourbon, coughing and sputtering before finally managing to rasp out, "that goes for you, too, Spock. We were only a few meters apart. As I recall, I didn't hear a warning on the nature of 'hey, look out below, there's a turboshaft coming up to your right sans car,'" he finished in a huff.

Spock had no answer for that, merely favoring the doctor with an unreadable stare.

"Yeah, I thought so," McCoy muttered darkly.

"Gentlemen, please," Kirk interrupted, "all's well that ends well, although I'm still amazed you didn't manage to do each other in. Eight days, with only each other for company. It must have been an interesting ride," he mused smugly, but the peace of mind and delight that the two of them had been found alive and relatively unharmed was plainly evident, a boyish grin lighting his face.

"It did prove to be a considerable challenge, however, it was not entirely unpleasant," Spock said cryptically, recalling their final exchange, glancing suddenly at the doctor, an enigmatic interaction passing silently between them.

"Speak for yourself," McCoy retorted crustily, but his smile belied his words.

Kirk's gaze shifted from one to the other, mouth agape, completely nonplussed. He had realized long ago that their feigned hostility toward one another acted as a buffer for deeper feelings of friendship and respect. Could it be that this incident finally made them understand and accept that as well?

"Y'know, Jim," McCoy started, changing the subject, "finding that crate of supplies and the message you left for us meant a lot." He looked askance at Spock before going on. The Vulcan nodded his head slightly, and McCoy continued, "it showed us that you still believed we were alive, and that you'd come for us. It's what kept us going."

"I wasn't about to give up on you, but I still can't fathom how you refrained from killing each other for a whole week."

"And I'm amazed you were able to stay out of trouble for that amount of time without a Magi guiding you," McCoy countered.

"Really, Bones," Kirk said, somewhat disgruntled. "Spock's advice is invaluable, but I hardly think I can't live without it."

"Actually, I was referring to me. Spock could hardly be considered a Magi - with those ears?" he said, gesturing pointedly at Spock's head. "They'd have burned him at the stake for sure."

"At least the captain's ears have had a week to heal," Spock observed with a supercilious air.

"Yeah, and just what is that supposed to mean, Spock?" McCoy queried, his brow furrowed in consternation.

"I only meant he experienced a week free of your incessant and mundane chatter," the Vulcan clarified.

"Well, at least my voice has some timbre to it, unlike your stale, lifeless monotone. You use the same pitch to announce a standard orbit or our imminent destruction." McCoy crossed his arms, waiting for the Vulcan's response.

"Yes, it does," Spock agreed. "And yet the advice it offers tends to be more and more inane as the situation escalates," he added smoothly.

McCoy shot Spock a dark look, and Kirk cracked up. His mirth poured forth unchecked, laughing until his sides ached, tears streaming down his cheeks. "You two," he said as he fought to catch his breath, wiping his face with the back of his hand, "in some warped, weird way, I missed that over the last week." His tone and expression suddenly became serious. "However, as much as you two irritate the hell out of me sometimes, I don't know what I'd do without you."

At that, McCoy and Spock exchanged a knowing glance. _Neither do we, and for the time being at least, we won't have to find out, _McCoy thought silently. "Well, thanks, Jim," McCoy said, but he had eyes only for the Vulcan. "It's good to be home."


End file.
